


With or Without You

by gallifreyslostson, larxenethefirefly



Series: A world called home [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-10 10:23:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 73,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3286835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyslostson/pseuds/gallifreyslostson, https://archiveofourown.org/users/larxenethefirefly/pseuds/larxenethefirefly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When tragedy strikes just before their third anniversary, Malcolm fights against time and his own family to locate his wife, while Rose finds herself dealing with a very different Malcolm Tucker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wedding Bells

**Author's Note:**

> And here we are, for round two :)  
> Thanks to Kate for the amazing beta work and for putting up with all our antics. You're a trooper <3

In any reality, in any dimension, there’s a million possible outcomes to every action. The world we see is dictated by our mistakes,

_“I broke my promise to him! I promised him that I’d stay with him forever. I’m the one who fell.”_

_“You are more than that one moment.”_

our choices,

_“You don’t make the calls here, Tucker! This is my job, my project! I’m not just your little media darling, and I’m not some fucking kid you can bully around!”_

_“You might be willing to die for him, but I’m not willing to let you.”_

our lives.

_“I love you so much, and I nearly lost you, I probably have lost you, I understand if you hate me, but I--”_

_“Darling, I couldn’t hate you if I tried...I’ve been in love with you too long for that.”_

Change one thing and the ripple can affect the entire universe.

oOoOo

Their engagement didn’t last long. Neither of them had any desire for any elaborate affair and decided that two months was plenty long enough before they made it official. Jackie had nearly had fits when they told her that, and Pete had groaned as she railed on them about taking away her right to give her only daughter a beautiful wedding. It hadn’t taken long, however, for her to remember that the words “money is no object” are magic, and the preparations spun out of control for Malcolm and Rose before long. Not that Malcolm particularly cared; so long as it ended with him and Rose together, that’s all that really mattered. That’s probably why most discussions involving wedding plans ended up in bed...or on the sofa...or in the shower…

Malcolm’s plans mostly consisted of what happened _after_ the wedding, and he was eager to have as much rehearsal time as possible.

Despite trying to remember every detail, the day itself passes in a blur for Malcolm. There’s the obligatory lecture by the father of the bride--made slightly awkward by the fact that the father of the bride is also best man and younger than the groom--and the last minute flower disaster that he’s in no way equipped to handle--thankfully, Annie is in no such state, and fixes the problem with poise that says “I love you, and you will owe me for this forever.” His collar feels too tight as he stands at the altar, images of the first time he put himself through this springing unbidden to his mind, a problem made only worse by the wave of deja vu as Julie skips down the aisle with her basket of flowers. He’d tried to go traditional in most aspects, but really should have known that it was a doomed effort, what with his sister and fiance being best friends and Jackie sparing no expense. His niece is dressed as a fairy princess, complete with wand and tiara, and looks proud as punch as she tosses petals haphazardly, half of them falling on the small group of witnesses. Given that Nathan had insisted on dressing as Superman, and Rose had giggled for twenty minutes, he hadn’t really had a leg to stand on when it came to attire.

Then Rose comes out, and he suddenly stops caring about anything else at all. He can’t really balk at whether or not she looks traditional in her long strapless gown and veil; the pale yellow trim forming a double ‘w’ at her sweetheart neckline just makes him smile.

His favorite Wonder Woman.

It gets hazy again after that, but he’s got her hands in his anchoring him to reality. He must have managed to say the right things at the right times, because it feels like minutes before she’s slipping a ring onto his finger--silver this time, and it doesn’t feel nearly as heavy--and he’s slipping one on hers, just over her transformed TARDIS key. Before the minister is done telling him he may kiss her, she’s grabbing his lapels and pulling him down into a snog, and he smiles against her lips as his arms wrap around her, refusing to let her go until Pete taps him on the shoulder with an awkward cough. Rose laughs at him then, as his eyes run over her heatedly, and leans up to give him another quick, chaste kiss before whispering “later” in his ear.

The reception’s a small affair, the invites having been limited to family and a few friends from Vitex or Torchwood (mostly Rose’s), but there’s still a DJ, and he still announces them as Mister and Mrs. Malcolm Tucker, and Malcolm genuinely worries for a moment that his heart will actually explode. He hadn’t really expected her to take his name, hadn’t even asked, but someone else had, and he’d been stunned at how easily she’d said yes. She deserved better than his name, but he wasn’t about to argue with her.  


There’s a photograph next to the head table, blown up and framed and very familiar. Him and Rose against a tree, what feels like a thousand years ago now. He’s still got the original at home, worn though it is, in the safe with a few legal documents and other things worth saving--a reminder of what they’d already fought through and survived together. He manages to sneak away from the table while the caterers are scuttling around to serve everyone, approaching the table where Peter Mannion, the only person he’d invited from his past life, is seated with his wife.

“I thought you said the copies and negatives were destroyed,” he says after exchanging a few pleasantries.

“I lied,” Mannion says with an unapologetic shrug. “I figured it might be useful one day...for one reason or another.”

Malcolm shakes his head with a grin. “Bastard.”

“What other sort of friend would you have?” Mannion asks with an answering smile, shaking his hand. “Congratulations, Malc. Don’t let that one go, alright?”

“Never going to happen.”

He’s fairly certain, after returning to the head table and throughout the rest of the dinner portion, that he’s probably supposed to take his eyes off of her at some point. He’s also aware that he’s acting extremely out of character in his need to be touching her and holding her constantly, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s still got the vague feeling of unreality, as if he letting go of her will bring the whole illusion crumbling down around him, because it’s just not possible that he should be allowed to be this happy at _this_ stage in his life.

But he is, and she’s here, and she’s giving him the same looks, and his heart stutters with every smile that graces her lips.

Speeches start about halfway through dinner, and he rolls his eyes at the absurd number of cliches and fluffy sentiments.

“Too bad they didn’t all have you writing them,” Rose whispers at one point, leaning close with her hand on his thigh as someone he’s almost positive he’s never spoken to spews out platitudes.

“I assure you, they would have been far more fucking interesting,” he mutters, taking a sip of champagne.

The family--their parents and his sister--are far better; they’re the ones who really know everything Malcolm and Rose had to fight against to be here, between the unusual circumstances they met under to the various heartbreaking hurdles as they found each other. They’re vague, but in a way that both he and Rose can read between every line; every one of them is thrilled that they made it here and have a...ridiculously long future to look forward to.

He looks up in surprise as Rose stands--he hadn’t actually banked on them giving speeches themselves, although she probably mentioned it at some point. Probably another detail he’d missed when he’d been too focused on her lips to give a fuck. Now he makes a valid attempt to actually focus on the words her lips are forming, however.

“Anyone who knows me will understand that when I say I resisted this life at first, it’s an understatement,” she says. “In the span of a few hours I found myself with a family I never imagined and… an entirely new world in front of me.” She exchanges a smile with her mother. “And it’s probably oversimplifying it just a bit when I say my first meeting with Tucker was… less than ideal.” A few of the guests chuckle. “But before I knew it he became one of the best friends I had, the one to drag me kicking and screaming into the real world, the one to remind me of who I am when it seemed like my entire world was falling apart around me. When everyone else seemed to be leaving me behind… he deliberately stayed by my side.” She reached out her hand to him, the one with his rings adorned on her finger. “I was in love with him before I was ready to admit it...but when I did, I knew that I could never let him go. For however long our forever is, I plan to spend every second of it showing him just how much I love him.”

He swallows hard, blinking his stinging eyes, before tugging on her hand and pulling her into his lap to kiss her. There’s cheers and catcalls, but he ignores them all, deepening the kiss and holding her closer as her arms slide around his neck. She pushes him away gently after a moment, however--probably wise, since it was about to become indecent. He stares at her in awe as he pulls back, still stunned that this amazing, radiant woman is his wife.

His _wife_.

He swallows hard before giving her another chaste kiss and shuffling her back onto her own chair, then pauses a moment as he tries to remember how to actually make words and ascertain whether any of them can possibly fucking compare to how elated he is. He takes a deep breath when he finally does stand, glancing over the people who have inexplicably become so important to him over a few short years, the additional family and friends he hadn’t asked for, but can’t imagine life without.

“I wasn’t aware I’d have to make a speech; if I had been, you can be sure it would have blown everyone else’s out of the fucking water,” he begins, waiting a beat for the snorts and groans. “I’m not really one for flowery words or happy cliches, unfortunately. Not as much call for it as you’d think in my line of work. So I’ll just say this: I thought I was smart. I thought I was a fucking genius. I knew how people worked, and I knew how to work them. I was good at it. But it turns out, that’s not really the point. The point is finding someone who can turn it all on its head and make you see things in a way you never considered. Because I guarantee you, I never fucking considered being here again,” he adds, pulling a face. There’s another smattering of laughs, but he looks down as Rose takes his hand again, squeezing back gently. “Turns out, I didn’t know nearly as much as I thought. But that’s alright. What I do know is that this woman has made my life infinitely better than I was capable of on my own; she touches everyone with her warmth and kindness and strength, so that everyone is better for knowing her.” She smiles up at him, tears glistening in her eyes, and he clears his throat before raising his eyes to the group again. “But nuts to the fucking lot of you, ‘cause I got her first.”

There’s an eruption of laughter and clapping as he pulls her up, dipping her backwards as he kisses her again, completely without fucking shame, the same way he’s got no doubt he’ll still be kissing her in a hundred years time.


	2. Tag and Bag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose and Malcolm enjoy their morning before Rose gets called out on a routine mission.

It isn’t the first time Rose wants to destroy her phone, and it probably won’t be the last. She groans as she searches for it, one hand fumbling blindly on the nightstand until she manages a lucky pass and the alarm goes blessedly quiet. She sighs, pulling her arm back under the duvet, ignoring the headache and hoping that it will go away with a bit more sleep.

Two minutes later, the alarm goes off again and Rose begins planning a very detailed mobile phone murder as she glares at it.

Underneath her Malcolm grunts before propping himself up on his elbows. “Why didn’t we call in today?” he rasps, squinting against the light of the lamp Rose flips on.

She winces as well. “Because we took the last of our planned work absences last week when you decided that a rainy day was best spent in bed, and if we take off any more days we won’t have any more for our anniversary, nevermind all the mini breaks you have planned for this summer.”

“Well it was worth it,” he points out, and Rose nods in acknowledgement. “But, why didn’t we decide that a morning after a fucking engagement party wasn’t worth one?”

She crawls out of the bed and grabs the water bottles she had stashed in a drawer last night, giving him one. “Well, if we did that, you’ll have to take back the multiple orgasms from the rainy day, or those from that throwaway day, or those from the--”

“Okay, okay, fine,” he complains, then takes a long drink from the bottle. “I should have stopped after that second fucking bourbon.”

“It was Mickey and Martha’s engagement party, we both deserved to relax a little,” she reminds him and sighs as the headache recedes a little bit. “You got paracetamol last week, yeah?”

He nods. “Medicine cabinet.” 

Rose gets out of bed to go search for some, but she hasn’t even opened it yet before Malcolm comes up behind her, wrapping his arms around her. “Want to take a shower first?” he murmurs into her ear, one hand sliding up to cup her breast through her thin sleep shirt.

She smiles and leans back against him. “So long as you don’t mind being late to work.”

“They can survive an extra thirty fucking minutes without me,” he replies. “Besides, I’m their boss, I’m certainly not about to let those little shits dictate my hours.”

“Both of us showing up late,” she tsks. “People might suspect that we’re sleeping together. Such a scandal.”

Malcolm smirks at her as he tugs her towards the shower. “It’s far too late for that, Mrs. Tucker.”

Rose laughs and quickly sheds her clothes, stepping into the tiled shower and turning the taps. He joins her seconds later, and Rose tests the water before stepping fully under the spray.

Malcolm lasts for a grand total of thirty seconds before he’s pulling her in for a kiss, not even pretending to go for the soap like he did the first few times they occupied the same shower space. Rose happily kisses him back, since she had shared him with others until the wee hours of the morning during the engagement party, and then was too tired to do anything but sleep when they got back to their house. Now she has him all to herself and she intends to take advantage.

So does Malcolm because the kiss goes from somewhat lazy to heated like a switch, one hand gripping her bum to pull her tight against him, the other tangling in her hair. Rose isn’t surprised to feel him hardening against her; she wriggles one hand between them to take him in hand, and as soon as her fingers wrap around him he’s pressing her against the still slightly cold tiles, wrenching a gasp from her.

He leans his head into her shoulder with a groan as she works her hand up and down his cock, tracing the underside and teasing the tip before sweeping back down again. When he’s fully hard and thrusting shallowly into her grasp he pulls her into a messy kiss, fisting his hands in her hair and pushing her against the wall. 

“Malcolm,” she mumbles as he starts kissing down her neck, and she makes a noise of protest when he removes her hand from his cock. He presses a finger to her clit and she gasps, jerking against him, then crying out in outrage when he steps away. 

“Turn around,” he says, eyes dark, and Rose is quick to obey.

She braces herself against the wall with her hands, and his own slide down her sides as he presses a kiss to the back of her neck. When he reaches her hips, one hand slides around to find her clit, settling into the pattern that he knows drives her crazy. She tilts her head back so he can better access her neck, and he quickly brushes her wet hair aside to kiss her shoulder. His hand goes between her legs and slides a finger into her, testing how wet she is before quickly withdrawing and moving to take one breast in hand. Rose rocks back into him, her eyes sliding shut when she feels him hard against her; she can picture his face, eyes dark and shoulders taut, looking at her like she’s the most amazing person in the universe--

“Rose,” he says, stepping closer and bending to kiss her shoulder. “Rose, are you--”

“You know me better than that,” she gasps, and she feels him smile before pulling back softly. The hand that had been teasing her breast goes to press against one of her own, entwining his fingers with hers as he lines himself up and pushes into her.

They both moan, and Rose marvels at how after nearly three years of marriage she still wants him more than she can fathom. The feeling of him sliding into her, filling her perfectly, is something she knows that she’ll never grow tired of, even after a hundred years of being with him. He moves quickly, gently, his fingers still swirling around her clit as he works her to completion, swearing as she rocks back against him in an effort to take him deeper. “You’re holding out on me,” she complains when his fingers stop moving as desperately.

“Lazy morning fucking,” he drawls. “Isn’t that the usual way?”

Rose narrows her eyes, then pulls out the heavy weapons as she manages to angle herself and he rubs against that spot inside her. “Fuck, Malcolm, I--”

She grins in triumph when he slams into her with a heightened urgency, but it quickly slides away when his efforts on her clit also increase. She grips his hand tightly and closes her eyes, begging him to go faster, harder, and oh god she’s close Malcolm please--

He brings her over the edge right after he falls, and Rose presses back against him as he bites down on her shoulder lightly, doing his best to prolong her orgasm as he shudders against her. When they finally recover he turns her around to pull her into a deep kiss, brushing away the wet hair clinging to her face.

“Mmm, good morning,” she says after they pull apart, snuggling into his embrace. He chuckles and reaches for the shampoo.

“Making up for last night,” he says as he begins to wash her hair. “I believe I promised you at least three orgasms at some point.”

She nods, closing her eyes as his hands gently massage her scalp. “I was very happy to win that bet, believe me. Though I was surprised I could still hit the target with a few drinks in me.” She lets him guide her under the showerhead, running her fingers through her hair as the shampoo washes out. “I was surprised that Martha didn’t kick us out beforehand, what with you nearly accosting me in that corner about halfway through the night.”

“Your own fucking fault for wearing that poor fucking excuse for a dress,” he says shrugging. “And telling me that you didn’t have knickers on. What’s a man to do when his wife kisses him after admitting that?”

“Exactly what you did,” she informs him. “I told you for a reason, and I was trying to get us into trouble because you, dear husband, were entirely too sexy. I can’t be blamed for having my hands on you.”

He smirks at her and gives her a kiss before resuming his bath.

When they finally manage to drag themselves from the shower, Rose panics at the time and rushes to get dressed. Malcolm grabs one of his suits and a pale purple tie that matches Rose’s blouse, going downstairs to start breakfast as she dries her hair. He has eggs and bacon waiting when she joins him, although his tie is undone and his suit jacket is draped over a chair. She smiles at the sight, taking in how relaxed he is, before joining him at the table and resting her left hand on his leg as she eats.

When they’re finished with their meal, Malcolm finishes getting dressed, rolling down his sleeves and shrugging on his suit jacket. “Have you gotten a dress for the Vitex party?” he asks as she does his tie, hands resting on her hips.

“Yep. It’s at the tailors because it needed to be modified a bit, but it should be ready in a few days.” She finishes with a flourish, then promptly uses it to pull him down into a kiss. “And no, you aren’t allowed to see it beforehand.”

He sighs and puts their dishes into the sink as Rose slides on her shoes. “Really, Rose, we’ve been married nearly three fucking years, it’s not like I can’t see the bride before the big reveal.”

“And yet you always remind me how much the wait was worth it,” she teases, then glances at her phone. “I really need to get going; there’s late, and then there’s just asking for trouble.”

He sighs but joins her in leaving, and as he gets his briefcase ready Rose sneaks back into the kitchen to grab a bag of dog food from behind the stash of food they have for Julie and Nathan whenever they visit. With it is a bowl, and she quietly slips out the back door and to the bushes along the back of the house, setting the bowl down and measuring out some of the dog food.

Seconds later, a dog emerges from the nearby tree line and bounds over, wagging its tail in excitement. Rose had found him a few months back wandering around the side of the road, malnourished and nearly dead on its feet. She had brought it home and cared for it, but Malcolm had resisted taking it in permanently, mostly due to their jobs and the fact that they were frequently away from the house due to some disaster or other. She had agreed with him, but was bound and determined to make him come ‘round, if only so they wouldn’t be alone if one of them was working late or off on a business trip.

“Hey there, bud,” she says as he licks her before going to the food. She’s not entirely sure what breed he is, maybe black lab with some other breed because of the long, shaggy fur and brown streaks, but he’s friendly and keeps the yard clear of raccoons or other scavengers that tend to get into the trash. “I still need to give you a name,” she muses, scratching him behind the ears.

She jumps when she hears Malcolm calling for her and grabs the food bag. The bowl could wait; the dog had caught on quickly that she was sneaking it and to her amusement hid the bowl in the woods when she couldn’t retrieve it in time. “Coming!” she says, and Rose makes certain that he’s not in the kitchen before she hides the food bag again. After checking to make certain she has her ID badge clipped to her belt, Rose grabs her keys before going into the foyer where Malcolm is waiting. She locks the door after following him outside and heads to her car, allowing him to pull her into one last, long kiss before she’s heading to work.

As usual, he texts her as soon as she gets out of sight. _I’m looking forward to our lunch date. There’s that Indian place that Sam discovered last week that I still want to try._

She smiles. _Just so long as we save enough time for our own mid-day break._

_Oh, I’m fucking counting on it._

Rose enters Torchwood looking forward to lunch and smirks at Mickey hunched over his desk. “I warned you,” she sing-songs as he glares at her. “How’s Martha?”

“Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” he complains. “She shoved nearly five glasses of water at me this morning, and I have to drink the rest of that.” He gestures moodily at a tall water bottle.

“Totally worth it,” Sarah says, looking none the worse for wear, even though she drank more than any of them. “I haven’t had that much fun in ages.”

“Well you’re about to have some more,” Jake calls out. “We just got called out for backup; Andy has a Code Three.”

They all groan, but hurry to the locker rooms to change. Code Three’s weren’t terribly dangerous, since it meant that the target was easily overwhelmed by lots of noise and motion, so the more Agents, the better. Minutes later they pile into the van, Jake explaining the call as he drives.

“Recon is sure it’s a Neila?” Sarah asks.

“Ninety-eight percent positive,” Jake replies. “We’re working with Andy’s team on this one, but I’m still Lead for all intents and purposes. Keep your wits about you.”

Rose calls Malcolm and leaves a voicemail to explain that she may not make lunch due to being called out in the field and ends it with a quick “I love you” as Sarah catcalls from beside her. They pull into the warded-off section twenty minutes later and Andy is waiting for them, his expression tense. “The target is located on the third floor and it’s fast,” he says. “Garret can’t get a solid reading.”

“Attack plan beta?” Jake asks.

“Probably best,” Andy replies. “We’re a member short, though.”

“I’ll go,” Rose says. “It’s Mickeys turn in the van anyway and he’s my usual partner.”

Andy nods. “You’ll be with Chase, then. He’s new, but he’s been in the field for a few months, so he knows what he’s doing.”

They split, each team taking a different entrance; they can hear the Neila’s footsteps above them, rapidly racing across the floorboards, and the tell-tale electrical field it generates prickling along Rose’s skin. If feels different, though--more mental than physical. Before she can decipher it, though, she and Chase are up the stairs hanging in the back as the others move to form a perimeter around the room. The cheetah-like alien pauses slightly as it regards them, tail flicking madly. Rose frowns as she takes it in. This one looks… different. Neila’s are fast but ultimately harmless and when faced with multiple quarries, they freeze, unable to choose a target. This one, however, seems far too alert, the mauve patches of fur more prominent, nearly drowning out the cerulean that’s supposed to be present over the face, belly, and legs. 

“On my count,” Jake starts, but before he can finish, the alien howls, the current spiking and sending a shock through each of them. 

Disoriented, Rose stumbles, only to catch herself in time to see the Neila leaping towards Chase. Without a second thought, she throws herself at them, pushing Chase out of the way as the Neila crashes into her. Her head slams into a table corner and her vision swims. The last thing she sees is the alien’s eyes lighting up with a bright, blinding flash of white as it lowers its head towards hers, just before everything goes black.


	3. Careful What You Wish For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm struggles to cope as the details of Rose's mission are revealed

“Sorry, Malcolm, are we boring you?” the speaker in front of the room asks.

Malcolm, leaning back in his chair with his legs kicked up on the table, tears his eyes away from the pattern he’s been making on the ceiling to lift his head and face the front of the room. Bryant, the shockingly boring head of accountancy, gives him a pointed look while the other attendees watch him nervously.

“Sorry, were you waiting for an answer?” he asks. “I thought that was rhetorical. Right, then, yes, you are fucking boring me into an early fucking grave. Are we in the black?”  


Bryant huffs. “Yes, but--”

“Are we in any immediate fucking danger of not being in the black?” Malcolm interrupts.

“Well, no, but--”

“Are there any fucking illegal reasons why we’re in the black that I should make myself aware of before those scavengers at the _Mail_ find out?”

“Of course not!” Bryant says with an offended look, straightening his tie huffily.

“Then I don’t fucking care,” Malcolm says, bringing his legs back down and picking up the various files and notebooks that are constantly found on his person. “I’m sure all your pie charts and graphs and fucking _walls_ of dry as fucking dust text were a pleasure to make, and who knows, maybe you’ll find some lucky girl who enjoys them just as much one day. Or boy, I’m not judgy. Either way, ta, but no ta. Buh bye.”

“Mister Tucker!” Bryant calls after him, but he’s already heading out into the hall, striding quickly away from the conference room and thinking dark thoughts about Pete, who’d somehow managed to escape being part of that particularly nasty brand of mental torture.

It had been like that all morning. At this point, he’s about ready to get on his knees and beg Torchwood to fuck something up just to break the fucking monotony. The only silver lining currently, is that it’s nearly lunch time. A silver lining that is quickly snatched away when he pulls out his phone and finds a new voicemail from a call he’d somehow missed over an hour ago.

“Hey Superman,” Rose’s voice comes through the phone’s tinny speakers. “Sorry to disappoint, but it looks like I’m going to have to take a raincheck on lunch and the afternoon delight. Duty calls. Should just be a routine tag and bag, but you know how bleeding time consuming those can get. If it gets late, I’ll pick up dinner. I love you!”

He pulls a face, automatically saving her message as he slips his phone back in his jacket pocket. So much for _that_.

“Sam,” he sighs as he approaches his office. “You wanna put an order in for that Thai place? Evidently it’s a working lunch day.”

He shrugs out of his jacket in his office, rolling up his sleeves and slipping on his glasses as he drops into his chair, eyeing the stack of reports from Torchwood that’ll probably annoy him. Better than nothing.

An hour later, he’s made it through two reports, now filled with notes of reasons he’s going to be having a good shout at someone later. When the phone rings, he picks it up without glancing at it, still chewing on Thai Shu-Mai.

“Tucker,” he says curtly.

“Malcolm, it’s Pete.” Malcolm instantly stills, alarm shooting through him. In nearly ten years, he can count on one hand the number of times Pete’s used his first name, one of which was the day he’d married Pete’s daughter. “Listen, I need you to come down to Torchwood. It’s...it’s about Rose.”

Tag and bag, that’s what she’d said. He repeats this to himself several time as he sprints from the Vitex building and gets in his car to race over to Torchwood. Not the first time he got a call like this. She’s been injured before. Hell, that was how Pete found out about them in the first place years ago. She’d been fine. Mostly fine. So maybe she’s just...slightly less fine. Which isn’t fucking good, but also isn’t fucking--

No.

He’s cracking his knuckles anxiously at his side as he stalks through the Torchwood building heading for Pete’s office. He could just go down to the medical wing, nothing’s ever stopped him before. But Pete said his office.

Pete never says his office. Not the one at Torchwood.

Pete and Mickey are both there when he arrives, but their conversation halts when Malcolm steps inside the office. He catches a furtive glance between them that does nothing to assuage his worry before Pete turns to him.

“Malcolm, why don’t you sit down?” Pete offers, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk.

“Rather not,” he says tersely. “What the fuck is this about, Pete? You said Rose. Where is she?” Pete and Mickey glance at each other again. “Spit it the fuck out. Where’s my wife?”

“We’re still not sure exactly what happened,” Mickey says slowly, and Malcolm sucks in a breath through his nose, pressing his lips together as he glares at the floor. “There was a lot of noise, shouting and banging around, Chase screaming for help...Sarah and I ran up there, but...we were too late, she was already gone.”

Malcolm’s eyes snap up to Mickey, then to Pete, his blood freezing in his veins. Surely there must be some mistake, she can’t be--“Gone? She’s...no. No, she left me a voicemail two hours ago, she was fine. She said it was just routine, she can’t--”

Pete steps forward, grabbing his arm to steady him. “No, it’s not that. She’s not dead. At least...we don’t know that for sure.”

“Then what the fuck do you know?” Malcolm demands, shaking his hand off in irritation born of confusion. “Your little fucking fanboy says she’s gone, what the fuck does that mean? Where the fuck _is_ she?”

“Oi!” Mickey interjects with a frown, and Malcolm spins to him with an icy glare.

“Mickey,” Pete says before Malcolm can unload on him. “Not the time. Thing is, Tucker, we’re not...sure where she is.”

“This is fucking _Torchwood_ ,” Malcolm says slowly, turning his head back toward Pete a little. “You can find a fucking sliver up a field mouse’s arse, you can find Rose.”

“We could do that,” Pete allows with a nod. “On Earth. All the intel we’ve gotten so far has come up blank.” Malcolm turns to look at his father-in-law fully when he pauses, and Pete shakes his head. “Rose isn’t on the planet. Anywhere.”

Malcolm glances around the office, not really seeing any of it. After a moment, he makes his way to one of the chairs in front of the desk, sinking into it slowly and running his hands over his face before resting his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands loosely in front of him.

“So what does that mean?” he asks quietly. “Did she get...dunno...transported? Or...fucking vaporized? Or do either of you have a fucking clue?”

“We’re...holding out hope for the former,” Pete says, stepping around him and taking the other chair. “It’s not a species we’ve encountered before, so we’re not really sure what it’s...offensive skills are.”

“She said it was routine,” Malcolm repeats. “It’s not fucking routine if she doesn’t know what the fuck she’s up against.”

Pete glances back at Mickey, and Malcolm follows his gaze to pin the younger man with a stare that makes him shift uncomfortably. “It was supposed to be! Andy said it was a Neila when he called Jake for backup. They’re basically harmless, just fast. It wasn’t supposed to be--”

“Backup?” Malcolm asks, his voice deadly quiet. “She was out there because someone called for backup and didn’t even know what they were doing?”

“Mistakes happen, Malcolm...at least, that’s what I was told,” Pete grinds out through a clenched jaw. “He’s being formally reprimanded.”

“Oh! Oh, that’s fucking fantastic,” Malcolm says, getting to his feet and pacing the office. “Rose gets called out without having a fucking clue how to defend herself because some fucking cunt can’t do his own fucking job well enough, and then fucking vanishes off the face of the fucking planet. But yeah, no, he’s being slapped on the fucking wrist, I feel a lot fucking better, let me fucking tell you.” He whips around to Mickey again. “Remind me, where the fuck were you? Aren’t you two thick as fucking thieves? Always got each other’s back? ‘Cause that’s what she told me when she came home with a dislocated shoulder after saving your sorry ass last year!”

“I’m not the bloody team leader!” Mickey yells back. “You wanna know why I wasn’t with her, you take that up with Jake!”

“Oh, doing what you're told, that’s an excuse for the fucking ages, eh?” Malcolm asks, snapping off a nazi salute. “Long as she’s saving you, it’s all well and good isn’t it, but god help you if you stick out a fucking toe for her--”

“Enough!” Pete cuts in, and Malcolm sucks in a breath, trying to steady himself. “Now look, we’re all upset, and I know there’s no love lost between the two of you, but picking fights with each other isn’t going to help anyone, much less Rose.” Mickey opens his mouth to protest, but Pete silences him with a look. “If we can find out more about this thing, try to identify it, that’ll help us figure out what happened to Rose. There’s no reason to believe yet that she’s dead.”

“Fucking Torchwood,” Malcolm mutters. “She risks her life for this place all the fucking time, and what can you do when she needs you? Fucking book reports.”

“Malcolm,” Pete says, and Malcolm’s eye twitches. “That’s the best place to start. We can’t do anything until we know what we’re dealing with.”

A sort of cold numbness settles over Malcolm as the truth of it drives home. “What can I do?”

“Go home,” Mickey says, not unkindly, but Malcolm still winces. “You’re out of your depth here. Let us figure out what we’re dealing with. I’m sure Pete’ll keep you updated.”  


Malcolm looks down at the carpet as the numbness spreads until he’s not even certain he’s still breathing. The air around him feels heavy, like he’s underwater, and he’s got no idea which way is up.

Pete’s voice filters through after a moment. “...tell Jax to cancel the Vitex party.”

“No,” Malcolm says, his voice hollow as his spin autopilot takes over. “If you cancel the party, that’s admitting something is wrong, and inviting a formal investigation this place can’t afford. If Rose hasn’t been...if she’s not back yet--” The words are glass, slicing through the heavy water he’s drowning in, and he flinches. “--we’ll say she’s travelling, that it couldn’t be avoided, and give her apologies on her behalf.”

“You sure?” Pete asks uncertainly.

“That’s what you fucking pay me for, isn’t it?” Malcolm asks in the same flat tone, raising his eyes to his boss.

“Right,” Pete says, brows furrowing. “Until then, like Mickey said, I’ll keep you updated.” He pauses, studying Malcolm a moment, then reaches forward and grasps his arm. “We’ll find her, Tucker. If...if she’s out there, we’ll find her.”

Malcolm nods, not even twitching as the “if” slices into him. Pete says something else, something about hiring a car, but Malcolm waves him off and walks out of the office. What was it Rose had said? When she’d gone to bed for two weeks after finding out she was stuck here after all. Something about gravity making up for lost time. He’d fought it for her, and now it seemed like it was coming to collect its due, making every fucking step more difficult.

Somehow, he makes it to his car and he drops into the driver’s seat, exhausted by the effort. He shuts the door and turns over the engine, but otherwise doesn’t move, staring at the wall of the parking garage. After a moment, he pulls out his phone and dialing a number before putting it up to his ear.

_“Hi, you’ve reached Rose. Sorry I can’t answer your call, but leave me a message, and I’ll be sure to call you back. Bye!”_

“Hey Wonder Woman,” he says softly, eyes burning. “Sorry you had to miss lunch. We’ll have to make up for it when you get home. Love you, darling.”

He hangs up, drawing a shuddering breath as his vision blurs. He closes his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat as he puts his phone away, then puts his car in gear, needing to put as much fucking distance between him and Torchwood as possible.


	4. This Is Not The London You're Looking For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose wakes up after the Neila attack and tries to figure out where she is

She’s aware of the rough concrete at first and a pounding in her head that has nothing to do with a hangover. The noises around her are confusing, and she manages to push herself into a sitting position and squint around her, though she immediately regrets that decision as the light causes her head to feel like it’s being squeezed through a vice. She braces her elbows on her knees, taking measured breaths, waiting for the headache to retreat. When it finally does, she opens her eyes cautiously, the light blinding her for a moment before she’s able to see properly. From the looks of her surroundings she’s in some alley in downtown London and she’s struggling to remember how she got here. The past few minutes are muddled, but she remembers the not-Neila, pushing Chase out of the way, and it tackling her instead. There was this white light and an excruciating pain--

Rose presses her hands to her temples, squeezing her eyes shut. Okay. She must have been teleported; that’s nothing serious. Embarrassing, but nothing to worry about. There had been incidents like this in the past where a team member had come into contact with an alien artifact that had transported them miles away, and on one occasion, to a research station in Antarctica. She and Malcolm had been on vacation when that happened and didn’t hear about it until afterwards; Rose had made sure to make penguin jokes whenever the agent was around though. 

Looks like this time she’ll be the one getting teased, although she’ll be sure to yell at Andy some, if not let Malcolm loose on him. He had done the recon and had reported a Neila when it clearly wasn’t one. Hopefully by the time she gets back to Torchwood, they will have identified it and gotten it contained and most of the excitement will have died down. She wonders if she’ll even see home any time soon; Martha will want to examine her to make sure that there were no adverse effects to her being transported halfway across the city, not to mention the debriefings and paperwork that will follow. It’ll be a late night, though if she plays her cards right she might be able to take tomorrow off and spend it with Malcolm in his office, more than making up for the lunch cancellation.

But first, she needs to let them know she’s alright; her team members are probably worried, although she has no idea how long it’s been, and Pete has probably already called Malcolm. Best to nip any sort of panic in the bud before things get out of hand.

She digs her phone out of her pocket, sighing in relief when she finds that it wasn’t damaged. She quickly dials Pete’s number, holding the mobile to her ear, only to frown when the phone beeps and informs her that the call cannot be completed.

She checks the phone, only to see that she doesn’t have a signal. Her frown deepens. Her phone has never had trouble getting service in London--shouldn’t have trouble anywhere, actually, since it’s connected to a Torchwood satellite. Maybe it was damaged after all.

Getting carefully to her feet, Rose stumbles out of the alley, leaning against the side of the building as she looks around. It’s not a place she recognizes, but it’s definitely London, so she merges into the crowds in the hope of seeing something familiar so she can orient herself and get back to Torchwood or her team.

After a few blocks and many odd glances, she finally sees a building she recognizes and sighs in relief. She’s in the southern part of the city and while she won’t be able to get to headquarters by walking, a cab won’t be an issue to find. She pulls out her phone again, pulling up the app that tracks the various cabs around the city. At least the wifi seems to be working still.

There--four streets over, she should be able to catch one. She sets out at a jog, hiding her face and sending a silent apology to Malcolm for the pictures that will no doubt surface. The Vitex heiress running around London dressed in her standard work fatigues and probably looking the worse for wear--she can blame muggers, but she long ago vowed to stop causing her husband so much trouble and it seems like fate is determined to go against her wishes. Not to mention that she wouldn’t be able to easily explain to him why she was wandering out in public; she tries hiding the… messier parts of her job from him, and sometimes succeeds, but it’s times like this that he caught wind and fussed over her incessantly. She loves him for it, but she hates making him worry, and this will certainly cause him to worry. 

She definitely needs to take tomorrow off. If only for the fact that her husband would otherwise be calling her every few hours to check on her and see if she’s alright.

Rose sighs in frustration when the cab she’s going for blinks out indicating that it’s occupied; gritting her teeth she pulls up her email. As the app refreshes, a small box pops up informing her that the user is invalid and to sign in with the correct information. She frowns at it, typing her credentials again, only to see the same error message pop up. Rose stares, confused. She never logs out of it; it makes no sense that it would suddenly kick her out, much less tell her that her email address no longer exists.

What is going on?

She tries calling her mum, Mickey, and Pete once more but the call doesn’t go through. Confused, she checks her phone over carefully, but there’s nothing to indicate that it was damaged in any way. She wonders if something has broken internally somehow, or if a design flaw had finally made itself known.

Rose digs out a few coins from her pocket and goes to a phone booth, dialing her husband’s number. It rings for a moment before an unknown voice answers, and Rose stammers an apology before hanging up and staring at the phone in astonishment. There’s no way that she entered the numbers in wrong, and Malcolm never lets anyone handle his phone. Shaking, she dials Mickey’s number, only to hear that the number is no longer in service.

Numb, she leaves the booth, staring at the city around her. Everything is normal. She’s in London, the zeppelins are still in the sky, and yes, there are the soldiers guarding various zones of the city, even though she, Mickey, and Jackie had been campaigning to make them leave. So why can’t she get in touch with her family?

Nervously twisting her engagement ring, Rose walks aimlessly for a few minutes, thoughts swirling. Maybe the not-Neila did something? The odd pressure in her mind while she was inside the office building could have played a part, some sort of psychic… block, maybe, affecting things around her. It might explain how she wasn’t able to get into her email or make calls. It sounded impossible, but she wasn’t a complete expert on alien abilities. The fact that whatever alien had been in the building wasn’t one she had encountered before didn’t help.

As she passes a corner computer cafe, the ones popping up like Starbucks in this universe, she heads in on a whim. After a tense moment she sighs in relief when her Torchwood credit card still works and she pulls up the _Mail’s_ website. Same headline that she’d seen that morning--that’s a relief. The date matches too, and after hesitating, she pulls up information regarding Lumic, nearly sagging in relief when she sees the articles over the Cybermen, the fallout and the cleanup. She logs off the computer, thoughts whirling.

She is still in her universe, though for some reason she can’t contact her family. In that case, if it’s a simple case of alien tampering, it can be reversed. Martha had taken hundreds of scans after Rose’s longevity was discovered and it would be a simple case of simply taking new ones and discovering what was wrong by comparison. There were a few known psychic aliens taking refuge in London, ones that Rose herself had helped settle, so they could help her if Torchwood couldn’t. 

There was the other option, that she has completely lost her mind. She supposes that’s possible, but not exactly what one would call likely. It’s true that Torchwood agents had been discharged in the past after failing a psych evaluation following particularly grueling missions, but unless hitting her head rattled her brain more so than normal, attempting to detain the not-Neila wasn’t exactly a life-shattering mission.

She leaves the cafe and goes back into the city, determined to find a cab. She needs to get back to Torchwood so that she could put this entire day behind her, and the sooner she gets there the quicker she can go home.

However, it seems that luck is against her, since the cabs are either occupied elsewhere in the city or just plain occupied. She chases after at least three before she catches the hint, and finally resigns herself to walking.

It’s… odd. Though the fact that she is technically a minor celebrity has never quite managed to work it’s way into her mind, she is used to getting a cab whenever she asks for one, even if it meant being subjected to questions and requests for pictures or autographs. And despite the fact that she has been running around London for the past half hour or so, no one has stopped to stare, or take pictures, or call a news agent. The slow realization of this causes Rose to grow more worried; while at any other time she would have taken this as excellent news, it now causes a storm of foreboding to swirl within her. 

Something is definitely wrong, regardless of the timeline.

Rose turns into a more well-off street, large business buildings rising above her, people in suits giving her a wide berth as she hurries down the street. She probably looks frantic, grimy, and distinctly out of place, but Rose is only concerned with figuring out what is going on.

A group of men turn into a nearby building, revealing a figure ahead of her that she could recognize anywhere growling into a phone, while a curly haired young man scuttles along behind him. Rose nearly cries in relief; it’s Malcolm, looking more stressed than she’s seen him in a while, but there. Her panic and worry recede instantly, because despite the confusion and questions, he’s there now, and his presence is enough to give her confidence that everything will be alright. She races forward, desperate to have him in her arms.

“Oh thank god!” she exclaims, throwing her arms around him, pressing her face into his shoulder. “I’ve been trying to call you but my phone hasn’t been working, and I didn’t mean for this to happen but Andy was being a bloody stupid idiot and wasn’t paying attention--”

As she babbles, it suddenly registers that he’s not hugging her back, has in fact been trying to pry her off. Her mood plummets when she hears him ask in a tone of voice she hasn’t heard in years, at least directed at her, “Who the _fuck_ are you?”

Rose stumbles away, eyes darting over him frantically, and her heart drops as more bizarre inconsistencies become apparent. The shorter hair, with far more silver running through it than she's used to, the dark grey suit, when this morning he had been wearing beige. What she now realizes is a skinnier body, indicating that he’s been skipping meals, much like when they first met, hiding behind the slightly too-large suit that does a good job of masking it. It can't change the gauntness of his face, however, or the dark circles beneath the hard, flinty eyes that stare at her with none of the warmth she’s used to, and all the irritation of a man who’s just been extremely inconvenienced. There’s no trace of the smile that her Malcolm has hovering on his face nowadays, and her eyes immediately shoot to his left hand, still holding up the phone.

The ring on his finger is gold. Rebecca’s ring. 

There's no doubt that he's Malcolm Tucker... But the man before her is absolutely not her husband.

“Who’s your new friend?” the unknown man asks, a smirk on his face.

“The fuck if I know,” the man who isn’t her husband retorts. “Some fucking nutter, looks like. Listen, lady, did you wake up with the intention to fucking accost someone?”

Yes. Something is definitely wrong.

And wherever she is, it isn’t home.


	5. Quiet Bat People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm tries to shake off the strange encounter with the blonde nutter.

Malcolm narrows his eyes at the young woman staring between him and Ollie, her eyes wide and a little wild. Combined with the bizarre militaristic garb and the blood plastering what could possibly be blonde hair to one side of her head, he's not totally sure which authority he should be calling.

"You've got no idea who I am, do you?" she asks after a moment, stepping away and hugging her arms around herself.

"Sweetheart, I've never seen you in my fucking life," he assures her.

“Oh my god, this is a nightmare,” she says, raking her hands through her hair and wincing when her fingers pass over her injury.

"Maybe she knows you from the papers?" Ollie suggests.

"Well, yes, why wouldn't every fucking lunatic in the country be tracking me down?" Malcolm replies, arching an eyebrow as he glances down at his phone. "I made Nicola look slightly fucking capable; if I can do that for her, I can do it for fucking anyone. But they can't all pay me. Get rid of her."

"Look, uh, Miss," Ollie says as Malcolm moves away.  "Can we maybe... call someone for you?"

"I don't...I don't think so," the woman says.  "I don't... I'm not sure."

"We can't just _leave_ her here, Malcolm," Ollie says, and Malcolm pauses at the door to glance back at them.  "For Christ's sake, she's bleeding."

"Let's just hope she's clean," Malcolm says, his lip turning up a little in distaste. Ollie glances at the woman again uncertainly, and Malcolm rolls his eyes with an exasperated sigh.  "For fuck's sake, spare me your fucking bleeding heart dramatics. I haven't got the fucking time for it," he adds as he steps closer, taking the woman's arm roughly and dragging her away from the building.  "Come on, darling, time to scuttle back to whatever hole you crawled out of, there's a good girl."

She looks up again as he releases her, an expression of confusion and hurt making its way through the blood and grime. She opens her mouth as if to say something else, but he turns away before she has a chance.

"C'mon, Ollie," he says, nodding at the door as he passes. "You can play slap and tickle with your new gal pal later."

He heads inside without waiting to see if Ollie’s following, a sure way to make sure he does will.

“You are aware that you’re most likely going to hell?” Ollie asks, and Malcolm almost smiles at the predictability of him.  “You just left a woman bleeding from the head on the pavement without even so much as offering to call a cab.”

“I’m sure the orderlies will be by to get her soon,” he says easily, not looking up from his email as he makes his way to his office.  “The nuthouse must be boring without her.  Sam, get me Luke Haverford at NHS,” he says, pausing at the door of his office.  “I’m fairly certain he’s got some information for me.  How’s our fearless leader doing?”

“Not great,” Ollie admits, dropping into a chair as Malcolm rounds his desk.  “Bit keyed up about the cabinet meeting.”

“Good,” Malcolm spits.  “She’s a fucking terrible leader and they’re going to eat her alive.”

“That’s great, Malcolm,” Ollie retorts.  “Your loyalty is a fucking inspiration to us all.”

“It fucking should be,” he says.  “Because I’m loyal enough to know when the party is diseased, when it’s dying, and how to pinpoint the cause.  And Nicola fucking Murray is fucking cancer.”

“Well, it’s not as if you can just fucking excise her,” Ollie says with a frown.

“Fucking watch me,” he replies.  He glances at his phone when it rings suddenly and shoos Ollie out the door.  “Go make sure she doesn’t accidentally run over a few small children.”

“No, wouldn’t want her encroaching on any of your hobbies, would we?” Ollie asks nastily as he gets to his feet.

oOoOo

“Yes, that’s right,” Malcolm says into the phone after the calculated disaster made of the cabinet meeting.  “Bat people.  Should show in the photo; blow it up, big as you fucking can.”

“I think it’s interesting that you’re making suggestions on what I should print,” the editor of the _Mail_ replies,  “considering you threatened my reports an hour ago for photographing the same people you're now selling up the river.”

“We’ve all got a part to play,” Malcolm retorts.  “You’re getting a story, what the fuck do you care how you came by it?”

“You’re a bastard,” the editor says.

“Skip the fucking lecture on morality,” Malcolm snaps, rolling his eyes.  “But you’ll cut me out of the photo, yes?  Leave the idiot Bobbsey twins as the focal point.”

“Shit, Tucker, that’s how you treat your friends, I’d hate to be your enemy.”

“You’re not fucking interesting enough to be either,” Malcolm says, looking up as Ben enters and hitting the end button on his phone.  “And what can I do for you?”

“Heard you had an interesting morning,” Ben says as he sinks into a chair in front of Malcolm’s desk.  “Why didn’t you mention your new friend?”

“My what?” Malcolm asks, staring at him.  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Ollie said you got accosted by some crazy woman,” Ben says.

“Oh _that_.”  Malcolm frowns, glancing at the door.  “Why’s he spreading that around?”

“Was she cute?” Ben asks.

“How the fuck should I know?” Malcolm demands.  “She was covered in blood and filth and god fucking knows what else.  I wasn’t exactly about to chat her up.”

“You’d _honestly_ never seen her before?” Ben asks, smirking as Malcolm drops into his desk chair.  “Ollie said she seemed quite enamored with you.”

“Just some fucking nutter,” Malcolm says with a shrug, slipping on his glasses and reaching for a folder.  “Probably saw my picture somewhere and invented a whole relationship.  Fucking feral, that’s what she was.”

“I suppose it is a bit too much to believe you’d actually have a real human connection with someone in their right mind,” Ben says.

“I make human fucking connections all the time,” Malcolm counters without looking up.  “Usually by reminding people of their lack of job security or mortality, but we can’t all be puking fucking rainbows all the time, eh?”  He tilts his head thoughtfully.  “Although, I bet even the wack job would know the difference between a pony and a foal.  Maybe you should call her up, glean a little of her wisdom.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Ben says, ignoring the remark.  “Anyone who hugs you must be crazy.  I wouldn’t be surprised to find a bear trap on your person for just such an occasion.”

“You’re welcome to find out,” Malcolm says, raising his eyes with an evil grin.  “But later.  Right now, I have a lunch to get to.”

He lights a cigarette as he steps out of the building, heading for a greasy spoon down the street and texting Ollie.  It never ceases to amaze him how _easy_ Nicola makes it for him.  And thank god for that too, because how she fucking beat out Dan Miller for leader of the opposition in the first place is fucking beyond him.  But he’d been cleaning up her messes for too long now, and still manages to be bored out of his fucking mind; if the party ever wants to look competent again, drastic measures have to be taken.

His phone chirps and he pauses, ignoring the slight and mostly ever-present pain in his chest.  He should really get to the doctor at some point, but they’ll tell him the same thing they always do: lower the stress, eat better, sleep more.  None of which is going to fucking happen.  The place had fallen apart without him in his brief sojourn in the private sector, and now he has to work twice as hard to keep everyone in check and get the party back into the good graces of the people.

He groans when he sees Annalise’s name on the caller id, debating whether he can get away with ignoring it.  Probably not...it’s been a few weeks.  With a sigh he accepts the call, bringing the cigarette to his lips before greeting her.

“So you’re still alive then,” his sister says.

“Last I checked,” he tells her.  “You’ve got the Google alert, I’m sure you’ll fucking know if I die before I do.”

“Listen, the kids are at Mum and Dad’s for the week,” she says, ignoring his sarcasm.  “Wondered if maybe we could get dinner some time.  At least then you won’t have them being...clingy.”

He rolls his eyes at her tone.  “For christ’s sake, I said that one time.”

“And you’ve barely seen them since,” she retorts.

“Look, Annalise,” he says through gritted teeth.  “It was one thing when I was still at Vitex, but back in politics I haven’t got time to play surrogate dad to your kids.  That’s what they _have_ a father for, if John could be reminded of the fact.”

“Jeremy,” she says wearily.

“I don’t fucking care,” he barks.  “I offered to talk to him and you said no.  I don’t know what else you want me to fucking do.”

“You don’t have to be their _dad_ ,” Annalise says, irritation rising in her voice.  “Just be their uncle.  They love you, Mal.”

Another stab of pain shoots through his chest and he drops the cigarette to grind it out with his shoe.  “They can love me from afar.  Good practice for when I’m dead.”

“Don’t say that,” Annalise snaps.  “Why do you always have to insist on being alone and fucking miserable?  There’s more to life than party lines.  I really thought you’d realized that.”

“Oh, spare me the fucking guilt trip, Annalise,” he sneers.  “You think four years at Vitex was gonna make me realize the error of my ways, that I’d suddenly become Jimmy fucking Stewart, grateful for all the ‘small things’ in life?”

“I guess it really was just stupid of me,” she says.  “God, you’re a fucking piece of work, you know that?  You’ve got people who love you, who want you around, even being the irritable wretch you are, and you don’t care.”

“I didn’t ask you to keep calling,” Malcolm replies.  “You're more than welcome to--”

“That’s just fucking it!” she shouts, and he pulls the phone away from his ear.  “I _know_ I can stop calling, I know I can stop offering dinner, I know I can stop trying to spend time with you, but you're my brother, and I love you, and I hate knowing that it used to mean something to you.”

It still means something.  Somewhere in his shriveled up heart, it does.  But not enough for him to waste his time on it.  And really, if she’s so intent on being cheerful and thinking the best of people, she’s better off without him.  Sooner or later, he’ll just infect her too.

“I have to go,” he says after a moment.  “I have a lunch meeting.”

“Of course you do.”  She sighs heavily.  “I take it that’s a ‘no’ on dinner?”

“I’ve got a lot of work right now.”

“You’ve always got a lot of work.  Fine.  Eat, sleep, don’t die.  Love you, Mal.”

"Yeah," he says with a sigh, running a hand down his face. "You too."

He stares at his phone for a moment after he clicks off. He probably could make time for one dinner... but he knows she'll just lecture him about his declining health and lack of time for anything, and what's worse, she's the only one that can still make him feel guilty about it. He can't afford that, not right now. Maybe after he's deposed Nicola. But then he'll be up to his eyeballs in new policy with Dan Miller and have an actual fighting chance of getting back into Number Ten.

That's the problem. There's always something else. That's how it goes. He doesn't have time for friends or family. If that makes him a wretch, well, that's just a sacrifice he's got to make.

It's not as if he's really got any other options.

He shoves his sister from his mind, closing the distance to the chippy. He's got work to do.


	6. "I'm No One"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose's hunt for answers leads to confusion as more inconsistencies become apparent

It had taken Rose nearly five minutes to recover from her confrontation with her not-husband. Even now she’s still shaking as she finally gets a cab and rattles off a familiar address, mind whirling as she analyzes every second of their encounter.

She’s never seen Malcolm like that. So… out of touch with humanity, barricading himself off from everyone around him. While there had been hints of that when she first met him years ago it hadn’t been as pronounced…. and never around her. The harsher side of his demeanor that others had warned her about seemed like this fuzzy indistinct periphery. As hurtful as he could be when they argued, it was always in the heat of the moment when she hadn’t been exactly innocent either--and she knew he still pulled his punches with her, never being as vicious as he could be.

The man she had just left had spoken with intentional cruelty, an automatic defense that he didn’t even seem aware of. And yet she couldn’t help but try to find some shade of Malcolm in him, some sort of hidden realization of who she was even as he told her to beat it. 

Rose curls up further in the corner of the seat, trying not to think of how he had utterly destroyed her within the span of a minute.

The cabbie pulls up to the mansion an hour later and Rose pauses before she gets out. The house is… dark. Already she can tell that it’s used to being empty; the curtains faded, the garden filled with low-maintenance greenery instead of her mum’s beloved riot of flowers. There’s no odd toys in the front lawn that Tony left behind him, and the small lot to the side of the house that usually has a car or two that indicates that Jackie has friends over is empty. 

“You gonna get out, Miss?” The cabbie asks roughly.

She startles, then nods quickly. “Just… wait for me, alright? I… shouldn’t be too long.” Rose gets out of the cab quickly, then goes up to the door. She hesitates, unsure if she should even be here; the entire place feels wrong, and whatever is on the other side of the door will confirm it.

Rose takes a deep breath and knocks. 

There’s no answer for a long moment, enough to make Rose think that no one heard her. She’s just about to turn away when the door finally opens, revealing a weary woman Rose doesn’t recognize. “Can I help you, ma’am?” she asks.

“Er, yes. Is Jackie Tyler available?” Rose asks, her mouth dry.

The woman pauses, regarding her carefully. “Mrs. Tyler left a few years ago, ma’am. Hasn’t been around here since. Why do you ask?”

Rose stares at her, horrified, before shaking her head. “I… I’m sorry. I must’ve… made a mistake.” She hesitates. “Do you… do you know where she went?”

“It’s none of my business,” the woman says, forcefully. “And none of yours. What was your name again?”

“I’m… I’m no one.” Rose stammers. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Just… forget this ever happened.”

She dashes back to the waiting cab, fumbling with the handle before pulling it open and collapsing on the seat. The driver looks at her, startled. “Taken care of business, then?”

“Not...really.” she says, quietly. “I think I got something mixed up. Can you just… bring me to Barque Plaza?”

The cabbie grunts and pulls away from the drive.

With the mansion dark and empty, Rose’s thoughts had jumped immediately to Vitex. She needs to know what’s different--her husband is darker, harder, and her parent’s house is empty. She needs to find the reason that her universe has changed, and the more she knows about it, the easier it will be to figure it out.

She pays the cabbie when he finally arrives, giving him a hefty tip since he kept shooting her unnerved glances. Rose knows she probably looks a fright; she is scared to think of what she picked up in the alley she woke up in, not to mention slamming her head into a table after being attacked by an unidentified alien.

She hurries down the street, passing the familiar names, and then stops short when she reaches the Vitex office. The building is the same--sleek, modern, lots of glass windows--but the name is all wrong. The sign reads VitaLife instead, her father’s main competition, and whose CEO enjoys flirting with her as much as he enjoys beating Pete in the market.

Rose pulls out her phone, doing some quick research--Vitex had been bought out five years ago, sold for a couple million pounds, and had since become a part of VitaLife’s dominating business. Though the brand technically remains, it’s really only used in the markets that VitaLife couldn’t penetrate, the ones that she knows her father worked hard to get a handhold in. Seeing that her father’s business had been sold to a man that none of her family particularly likes ate away at her; what on Earth had caused him to sell? Had Vitex not done as well in this bizzare reality? What about Torchwood? What if the Cybermen--

She pauses, then looks up her mum. There’s a news article from a few days after Rose arrived here, exclaiming about the miraculous return of Jacqueline Tyler and another one dated nearly three months later about her Mum and Pete divorcing, Jackie falling off the map, and occurring shortly before Vitex was sold.

Not once did any of the articles mention her name.

Her heart sinking, Rose sits down on the pavement, a scary picture forming in her mind. Somehow, the not-Neila has changed her history, or has sent her to a parallel universe. Malcolm didn’t recognize her, and her parents aren’t together. She doesn’t know how it happened exactly, or how far it goes, but the quicker she gets to the bottom of this, the sooner she can fix it.

Before she accepts any theory as truth, however, there’s one last place she needs to visit- and she has a feeling that it’ll break her completely, no matter what she finds out.  


Rose heads towards the main street, finding a cab a short ways away. “I need to get to Canary Wharf,” she says.

“Any particular spot?” the driver asks.

“Surprise me,” she manages, and though the driver sends her a suspicious glance he pulls out into traffic.

He drops her off close to Torchwood, and after he leaves Rose stares up at the building, fishing her Torchwood ID out of her pocket and wondering if her father is even here. He had sold Vitex, so surely that meant he would have then devoted more time to Torchwood. He would know better than anyone what had happened to her. With any luck whatever the alien had done to affect everyone else hadn’t done so to him. She needs to see Mickey first, though; with all they’ve been through together he will be the first to believe her, and to help her with whatever is happening around her.

Rose swings around to the back of the building, using the entrance through the car park to get in. She manages to grab a door as it’s closing behind someone, but when she reaches the main entrance the desk guard does a double take.

“Miss, I’m sorry, but this is a secure facility--”

“I have an ID,” Rose replies, handing it over and hoping she can stay long enough to find Mickey and get his help. “I’m just here to see Mickey Smith.”

The guard narrows his eyes, but swipes the ID anyway. Rose can tell the instant that it’s denied by the shift in stance and the stiffening of his spine. “I’ll just call him now,” he says, calmly. “You can wait here if you like.”

“Can I--” before she can ask for her ID back he walks away with it, and Rose groans. It’s useless here, apparently, but she’ll need it if she gets back home. It had taken over a week to get it in the first place.

Rose notices the various Agents keeping an eye on her, so she sits down in one of the hard wooden chairs, trying to think happy thoughts. Her answers would be in Torchwood; she knows that. She just has to figure out what they are, and more importantly, stay long enough to get them--even if it means creating a security breach.

She looks around the room, knowing the building like the back of her hand. She saunters over to the water fountain, waiting until the other Agents deem her harmless and leave the room. Nearby is a janitor’s closet and within is a hidden door that allows one access to service corridors. It would let her move practically anywhere in the building, invisible and hidden, with strategic exit points. Only Pete, Jake, and Mickey are the others to know about them, and Rose had helped Pete map them out and disable all the entrances a year ago, not to mention lay traps for those who managed to get through to them.

The closet is easy to open, the tunnel access more so. She slides through the small revealed doorway, closing it behind her and reaching into her pocket to pull out the small flashlight. A quick check reveals none of the traps she’s used to, but unless they cause bodily harm she wants to trip them anyway. In fact, the more chaos she’s able to create, the better, because it means that it will make Mickey be forced to come see her.

Rose hurries through the corridors, popping out in the middle of research labs, scaring the scientists half to death, and then returning to the tunnels. She even interrupts a training session and is chased by a few Agents before she manages to lose them. It takes a while, but Security finally catches up to her, waiting outside the closet that she finally emerges from. 

“Miss Tyler, or whoever you are,” one of them growls, “raise your hands and stay where you are.”

She does so, unresisting as they put her in cuffs and march her down the hallway. “Thought it would take you quicker to catch me,” she says conversationally. “Do you really not know your own building?”

“Just what are you playing at?” one of them demands.

Rose shrugs. “Get me Mickey Smith and you’ll find out.”

“You just caused a Level Seven security threat and you ask for him?,” he replies incredulously. “You’ll be lucky to get out of here in one piece after the Commander is through with you. He doesn’t take kindly to intruders.”

Though Rose is confused at the title and who it’s for--since when is Torchwood so militant? That’s the exact opposite of what her father had wanted--she doesn’t talk until she’s shoved into an interrogation room and handcuffed to the table. The security leader drops in front of her, staring at her grimly.

“How did you replicate a Torchwood ID?” he demands.

Rose shrugs. “Photoshop.”

“Don’t play games with me,” he warns.

Rose cocks an eyebrow. She knows the man, of course--Henry Gates, with a bark worse than his bite. When it comes to the Torchwood hierarchy, he'd never been anything more than a glorified doorman, but it had never really stopped him from trying to abuse his power if he had half a chance. The fact that he's head of security now only further's Rose's misgivings about coming here, wondering what exactly she's gotten herself into.

Not that she'll ever give this little twat the satisfaction of seeing her unnerved. She can practically hear her husband's voice as she says, "Are you sure? I'm sure we could find a deck of cards somewhere, maybe a Parcheesi board?"

He glares at her. “Do you realize how much trouble you’re in?”

“Have a good idea, what with the welcoming party. How about I cause some more trouble though?” she asks. “The more the merrier and the sooner I see Mickey.” She pauses. “Oh, and by the way, research lab eight? They’ve got the nanoscope calibrated wrong. Noticed during my visit. They send that thing down into the depths of the ocean, they’re going to murder some fish and probably destroy whatever it is they’re trying to examine.”

Gates continues to question her, but Rose is flippant in her answers, putting on an air of extreme boredom, even though she’s panicking inside. Her plan was faulty from the start, and if she causes too much irritation they could very well give her Retcon and then she’ll be doomed. Her only hope, fragile as it is, is seeing Mickey so she can explain. And then maybe she’d finally be able to make some progress.

After an indeterminate amount of time, Gates finally leaves in frustrated fury and Rose spares a guilty thought before focusing on the table in front of her. Her plan has to work. She turns her rings on her fingers, agitated, ignoring the dozens of cameras that are trained on her. 

The door finally opens. “Rose Tyler,” a voice says, and she turns in shock to see Pete. It’s her father, but his voice is… harsher, his face harder. A long scar mars the skin of one cheek, something she knows for sure hadn't been there the last time she'd seen her father, and it gives him a slightly sinister and intimidating air that the Pete she knew would have avoided at all costs. “Fancy seeing you again.”


	7. Lifeline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm finds support from his sister during his first night without Rose

He’d driven from Torchwood on automatic and found himself steering his way past the hedges that hid their house from view before he was ready. He winces as he pulls up, realizing that he still half-expected Rose’s little blue convertible to already be there. He sighs, already feeling a few hundred years old as he heaves himself out of his own vehicle and trudges up the walk. He pauses when he sees the dog Rose has been caring for--apart from one notable exception years ago, she’s the worst at being sneaky, no matter how hard she tries, and he loves her for it. She’s been wearing him down for ages about letting the mutt inside, and he narrows his eyes at it now, sitting on the porch with its tongue lolling out; a big happy dog grin on its happy dog face.

“Sorry,” he says as he walks past it toward the door. “She’s not here. You’ll have to find someone else to fucking mooch from for a while.”

The dog whines a little and Malcolm glances down when he hears the click of its toenails on the wood porch. It looks up at him with sad eyes, although Malcolm’s fairly certain he’s probably just projecting. In either case he shakes his head, unlocking the door and pushing it open, closing it again on the pooch as he steps inside. He drops his keys into the bowl on the table near the entrance and rolls his neck, making his way upstairs to his study.

He’s got to pass through their bedroom to get there since she’d long ago transformed the secret room accessed through the closet into his personal haven. Only her and Annie know about it, although Nathan and Julie are beginning to suspect. 

He catches sight of Rose’s discarded clothing options from that morning lying on the bed. It feels like a million years ago now; waking up with a hangover, making love to her in the shower, having breakfast like normal people. Now she’s god knows where because god fucking knows what did something...and Malcolm’s completely powerless.

He drops his briefcase off on his desk and shrugs out of his suit jacket, only now realizing that he hadn’t even managed to roll down his sleeves before flying off to Torchwood. He frowns, pulling out his phone to text Sam, asking if she cleaned up his leftovers because he doesn’t want to find fucking rats crawling all over his office in the morning. It’s so petty and small, but it’s little thoughts like that keeping him from screaming soundlessly into the press of pain threatening to suffocate him the moment he gives it attention.  


She’d been so proud, he recalls, enlisting Annie and hiring movers while he’d been at work to shift all his furniture from the random room he’d taken over downstairs when he first moved in. She hadn’t even given him a chance to take off his coat before she’d covered his eyes and led him upstairs despite his complaints about how she’d probably kill them both. Her brilliant smile and how well she knew him stunned him, and he’d immediately taken her in his arms to kiss her hard. The kiss had quickly turned into a shag on the desk, and she’d smiled afterwards, saying something about how he’d always remember that when he sat down, that there was someone who loved him even when he buried himself in work. She’d been right...every time he works at the desk now, he has her in the back of his mind.

It’s feeling a bit more like a curse than a blessing now, however.

Just as he feels he’s about to lose it, the doorbell rings, effectively distracting him. He takes a breath, glancing around a moment before leaving his study and trying to ignore the emptiness of the bedroom as he hurries to answer the door.

“Hello, brother dear,” Annie says as he pulls it open, holding out a bottle of wine. “The kids are on their annual trek to Glasgow to see Gran and Granddad, so I figured I’d take the opportunity to visit my best friend and my favorite sibling.”

“I’m your only sibling,” he manages.

“Details,” she says with a shrug, then pauses. She pushes her sunglasses up onto her hair, stepping closer to get a better look at him. “Jesus, who died?”

He sucks in a breath, looking down quickly. “Something...happened. Uh.” He blinks a couple times as his eyes start burning again, swallowing back the lump that’s returned to his throat. “Rose is...gone. Not dead,” he adds quickly as he looks up to see Annie pale. “Just...uh...gone. Torchwood,” he finishes with a shrug.

She stares at him a moment, then looks down at the bottle in her hands. “We’re gonna need something stronger than this.”

She pushes him inside, tugging him by the arm into the dining room before turning to the liquor cabinet and pouring them both generous helpings of brandy. She sets one down in front of him, then drops into the seat next to him.

“What happened?” she asks simply, crossing her legs.

“I don’t know,” he says, taking a sip of brandy. He draws a sharp breath through his teeth at the burn in his throat before continuing. “She went out on a call, faced off with an alien, and disappeared. They’re not sure where she is now, but she’s not on Earth.”

“You’re sure she’s still--”

“Yes,” he interrupts quickly, his tone fierce. Because she’s got to be alive, somewhere. So long as she’s alive, there’s still a chance of finding her.

“What’re you gonna do?” Annie asks after a pause.

“There’s nothing I can do. It’s all up to Torchwood. I’ve just got to sit by and wait while they figure out what the fuck did this and then twiddle my fucking thumbs some more while they sort out how the fuck to give me my wife back.” He runs a hand down his face irritably, then glances at Annie watching him in concern. “I am so out of my depth here, Annie. It’s one thing to cover up their weirdness. It’s another to fucking be a part of it.”

“That weirdness brought you Rose in the first place,” she reminds him gently.

“Well it took her the fuck away too,” he snaps. “I’m a spin doctor. That’s it. If it was a matter of convincing the public that a fucking two foot tall pillar of sentient fucking marmalade is absolutely not a fucking threat and unequivocally the best choice for President, that I could do. But this?” He shrugs, feeling helpless, and hating it. “If it was anyone else, I’d go to Rose. What the fuck do I do now?”

Annie reaches out, resting a hand on his forearm, thumb moving gently. For a long moment that’s all she does, simply sits with him--a lifeline to the lost at sea--and he loves her for it. She’d been through enough with him to know that platitudes and cliches only tended to irritate him, because they were always such hollow gestures by people who felt the need to say something because the silence made them uncomfortable and pretty words of sympathy made them feel better. Annie doesn’t try to fill the silence as he sinks again into numbness, just makes her presence known so he doesn’t drown.

When she does finally speak, her tone is matter of fact. “If I know Rose, she’s not going to sit by and wait for rescue, wherever she is. And Pete isn’t going to give up trying to find her anytime soon either. He’s her dad, after all, and Jackie’s probably going ballistic at him right now. When you can help, he’ll tell you. C’mon.”

He stares at her as she stands and holds out a hand to him. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to go watch some telly and then I’m going to find whatever Nadia left for you in the fridge for dinner,” she informs him. He shakes his head, opening his mouth to protest, but she cuts him off. “No, shut up. I don’t want to deal with Rose when she comes back if she finds out you were skipping meals on my watch. For someone so little and friendly, she can _shout_.”

His lips twitch a little in spite of himself, and the pressure eases somewhat at his sister’s concrete belief that Rose _will_ be back. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I know that,” she says with a shrug. “You coming?”

He gives up then, allowing her to drag him into the living room, and sitting next to her as she flips through channels. The general feeling of disconnect deepens, and he gives in to it completely, preferring the dream-like state over the pain hovering in the periphery. He even manages to eat enough to keep Annie satisfied, and if it’s a bit mechanically, she doesn’t comment. He’s surprised when she informs him that she’s staying a few days, at least until Nathan and Julie return--she’s already got a few changes of clothes there and a bedroom staked out after more than a few nights spent at their house over the years, usually when she and Rose had a bit too much wine together--but he’s not about to refuse her. He’s grateful for the buffer between himself and the reminders of Rose in every inch of the house.

It’s getting late when he leaves Annie in the living room to wander into the kitchen, stooping to reach into the cupboard for the bag of dog food Rose has got hidden behind the various sweets and things for Nate and Julie, frowning when he finds the bowl missing. He carries it to the back door, unlocking it and letting himself out into the garden before whistling softly. The dog trots out of the foliage at the edge of the garden quickly, and Malcolm shakes his head when he sees the bowl it’s carrying in its mouth. It pauses when it sees Malcolm instead of Rose, then approaches more warily, dropping the bowl at his feet before sitting back and looking up at him. Malcolm watches it a moment, thudding the bag of food against his leg gently until the dog cocks its head and whines at him.

“Yeah, alright,” he sighs, crouching to pour a decent amount of food in the bowl. “This doesn’t mean we’re fucking friends, just so you know,” he adds as he rises. The dog continues to watch him, its eyes flitting between him and the bowl of food. “Go on. Or don’t, I don’t fucking care. But if you’re half-starved when Rose comes back, there’ll be no one to fucking blame but yourself.”

The dog watches him another moment, then approaches the bowl and sniffs it carefully before settling in to eat. Malcolm nods a little as he turns to head back inside and returns the food to its remarkably bad hiding spot.

“Where were you?” Annie asks as he drops down onto the sofa next to her again.

“Just needed to take care of something,” he replies with a shrug, focusing his attention on the television again.

Neither of them even try to go to their separate rooms that night. The very idea of trying to sleep in his bed while Rose is gone is another harpoon through the sea of denial he's submerged in, and he's able to see past his own misery enough to realize that Annie, having lost her best friend, likely doesn't want to be alone either. Instead, they stay on the sofa flipping through shitty telly to distract themselves. At some point, Annie falls asleep with her head against a pillow on his lap, the way she had when she was small and he was on holiday from university, and he tugs a blanket over her. The sun is coming up when he finally drifts off, his head falling against the sofa back and his hand on his sister's arm, and dreams of Rose.


	8. Daddy Dearest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose tries to get answers from the man who bears little resemblance to the father she knows and loves.

“Where’s Mickey?” she demands as Pete moves to sit across from her. “I asked for him.”

“He’s unavailable at the moment,” Pete replies. “But with all the trouble you went through to get his attention, I figure it’s important enough for me to know.”

Rose watches him warily as he takes the seat across from her at the metal table. He leans back, crossing his arms, and she shifts uncomfortably under his cool gaze.

“So tell me, Miss Tyler,” he prompts after a moment, sneering at the name in a way that leaves her feeling like she’s been slapped, “just what the hell are you doing here?”

She thinks quickly--it’s obvious that this man doesn’t trust her as far as he can throw her, and if she doesn’t diffuse the situation quickly, she’ll have no hope of getting anything from him, and she needs something from him. Information, at the very least, if not actual help.

“There was...an accident,” she says, trying to sound confident in her own story. “Wormhole opened up in my universe, and I ended up here. Didn’t mean to cause all the trouble, just thought this would be the place most likely to help.”

“Wormhole?” he asks suspiciously. “Funny, your Doctor said he was sealing off our two worlds. Forever.”

“Right,” she stammers. “The Doctor did say that. Um. Well, you know the Doctor,” she says, with what she sincerely hopes is a disarming smile. “Everything’s impossible til it happens, and then he scrambles to try and fix it.”

“Like coming to a parallel world where Cybermen kill my wife, you mean?” he asks, his impassive expression never changing.

“Yeah,” she agrees, her smile faltering and then dropping completely. “Yeah, something like that.”

“So you and the Doctor just...stumbled on a wormhole that coincidentally led here,” Pete says. “And then what?”

“I...sorta...fell,” she explains. “But, hold on, what _happened_ here? I mean...you were in charge of Vitex and you had mum and--” A spasm of pain flits across Pete’s features, almost too fast for Rose to be sure she’d seen it. “And now you’re _Commander_ of Torchwood?”

“You were expecting something different?” he asks evenly.

“Sort of, yeah,” she snaps, quickly losing her patience with the whole stupid situation. “What the hell _happened_ to you?”

He regards her cooly for a moment. “Not that it’s any of your business, but your mother and I didn’t stay together. She’s not my wife, and I’m not her husband.”

“So that’s it?” she demands hotly. “You just gave her up?”

“No,” he says tersely. “She gave me up. But if you’re really Rose, you should know all this.”

“How would I--” _Bad Wolf Bay_. The Doctor had managed to say goodbye to her...stands to reason that he’d find a way for her to say goodbye to her mother, for all his “you can never see her again.” “That doesn’t mean I understand it,” she says instead. “It was your second chance--”

“We’re not here to talk about my marital problems,” he interrupts. “We’re here to figure out how and why you infiltrated a top security building...and what to do about it.”

She stares at him, willing the tears burning her eyes to keep from falling. No Mum and Dad flirting and giving each other moon eyes over dinner, no fussing over Tony, no over the top and completely wonderful family holidays together. And certainly no one to walk her down the aisle. She fidgets with her wedding ring nervously as she searches for a way to get this man to trust her...or at least let her go to find her own way home.

“You’re married?” he asks, catching the motion.

“Yeah,” she replies distractedly, then focuses back on him. “Yeah. Look, you really don’t have to...do anything with me. I mean, the...Doctor’ll be sure to find a way to fix all this soon--”

“The wormhole,” Pete says again.

“Yeah.”

“The wormhole that only you fell through.” The coolness is back with a vengeance. “The wormhole that shouldn’t exist, and hasn’t been detected from this side by us at all.”  
She swallows hard, wondering for a moment how she’d thought she’d be able to get anything past him. He hadn’t been made Director by coin toss, after all. “I know it sounds...impossible--”

“That’s one word for it.”

“Look, it’s not exactly my area of expertise, is it?” she shouted. “I’m sure the Doctor could give you an explanation that’d satisfy you, probably at a hundred thousand miles an hour, but I can’t.”

“Clearly.”

“Look, I asked to see Mickey,” she says. “If anyone’ll believe me, he will. Where is he?”

“Like I said, he’s unavailable,” Pete stonewalls. “Regardless, if the Doctor is working so diligently to fix this problem that I’m still not entirely convinced exists, then I’m still failing to see why you’re here.”

“Doesn’t hurt to have people working from both ends,” she says with a shrug.

“Led by a person who can’t even explain what happened,” he retorts, raising an eyebrow. He studies her a moment, then shakes his head. “I have no reason to keep you here, and honestly, I don’t want to. You’ve made enough of a disaster in my life. Just don’t cause any trouble, and get the hell out as soon as you’re able. Understood?”

“What about--” He makes an impatient noise and flashes a look at her, and she snaps her mouth shut. Clearly, this Pete is not the person to try to get any more information from. “Nothing. Nevermind. I’ll just...clear off, yeah?”

“See that you do,” he says, tossing her ID badge back on the table. “And keep this shit out of my building.”

He gets up to leave, and she makes a face at his back. “You and Tucker are suited for each other in this bloody universe,” she mutters under her breath.

“Excuse me?” he asks, turning back to her.

“Nothing,” she says again.

“No, you said Tucker,” he says, moving back to the table and leaning on it to tower over her. “You never met Tucker, and I know I never mentioned him. Just what the hell are you playing at? Who the hell are you?”

“I told you!” she snaps, mind whirring again as she scrambles for an explanation. “I’m Rose Tyler, Jackie’s daughter, you know who I am!” Inspiration comes to her in a flash, and she adds, “How do _you_ know Tucker? Malcolm Tucker, right? Six feet of swearing misanthropy? Yeah, he did some cover up work with the Torchwood in my universe, never got on with him very well myself, bit too hot-tempered for my taste, clever though, didn’t like the Doctor much either, probably a genius ego thing.” She stops herself then, running out of breath, and waits as Pete studies her suspiciously. She can practically see Malcolm in the background shaking his head at her and rolling his eyes, coming up with all the ways she’d mucked that up to list out for her later. She’d take it at this point...even his coaching on public appearances would be preferable to this, especially since now those sessions usually ended when she distracted him with kisses. The thought sends a pang through her. She would give anything to have him with her, and write this entire thing off as a long, horrid nightmare.

Apparently she managed to keep from look too guilty, since Pete straightens up after a moment. His last words, however, still cut her to the quick.

“Just get out. I never want to see you again.”

“You never will,” she manages, and he turns and stalks out. She looks down when he leaves, tears threatening to overtake her again, and sucks in a deep breath. She hadn’t really thought she’d like the answers she got here, but she hadn’t expected it to be this bad, either. How had this universe turned out so completely wrong? It couldn’t just be her absence from it--sure, her mum loved her, and maybe it would have been difficult without her, but surely that couldn’t be it. She’s just not important enough to have caused this much damage.

Gates enters a moment later to escort her roughly out of the building. When she finally emerges into the city, the sun has started to set, and though she has more answers, she still doesn’t have a way back. And now it looks like she never will.

Slowly, she starts walking in a random direction, mind churning over everything that she had learned combined with what Pete had told her.

Point One: Somehow, she hadn’t been pulled into the void, therefore eliminating the need for Pete to rescue her, or she had and never made it in. Regardless, she’d never made it here, and somewhere along the line, his and Jackie’s relationship had gotten mucked up, which had apparently caused him to sell Vitex, too. And with Vitex now a part of VitaLife, Malcolm had been fired, causing him to find a new job, one that he obviously hates because he looks years older than his age. Jackie and Mickey are still out of reach, and if her parents are anything to go by, Mickey had apparently never met Martha either. 

Point Two: She had been put into this Universe by the alien somehow. While it’s looking more and more like her past had been changed, she’s still clinging onto the hope that she’s in some strange alternate reality, one that either exists in her head or could somehow be accessed by her family. Because being removed from them forever is not something she wants to think about.

Point Three: She’s miserable. That’s a given, but she feels better for making her list somewhat longer. It makes her feel like she’s getting something done, even as she feels like she’s losing grip with everything that keeps her anchored to Earth.

Point Four: Malcolm is probably worried sick about her. The longer she stays here, the less likely her team mates can get her back, and he’s alone again. The thought makes her stumble, and she has to catch herself. She had promised him forever on the day they exchanged their vows; he had lost too much to be alone again, and here she is, once again breaking that promise. Except it means so much more now, because their forevers are the same, and Malcolm isn’t afraid to embrace everything they can be together. She’s beginning to suspect that the promise is more of a curse; it seems that every time she begins to think it’s coming true, something happens to prove her wrong.

The only comfort she has is that Malcolm has her family to look after him along with his sister. They could be there for each other until she makes it back. Her Mum won’t let him wallow, and Annie won’t let him shut others away again.

She pauses. Annie. Out of everyone, she had forgotten to look up Annie, too worried about what had changed, and she never stopped to consider what might have stayed the same. Despite the fact that she wouldn’t know Rose from any other stranger in London, she knows that Annie can be counted on. She had accepted the strange things Rose had brought into her life without batting an eyelash; hopefully, she can offer Rose some help now.

Desperate, she flags down a cab and tells the driver Annie’s address, hoping that she hadn’t moved. This is her last chance to save some sanity, to find one thing in this horrible, wrong Universe that might give her some leniency. She had lost her entire family; she couldn’t lose her best friend too.

She pays for the cab and hurries up the drive, knocking desperately. After a tense moment the door opens and Annie’s familiar face comes into view.

Rose immediately bursts into tears.


	9. Wasteland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucker gets a call from Pete, and both men air their grievances.

Malcolm rolls off Angela Heaney’s ludicrously squeaky bed while the owner is still taking deep breaths to recover from the orgasm she’d received, and tugs off the condom to drop it into the bin. She said she’s on birth control, but he has enough problems without dipping his wick in a grab bag of fucking venereal disease unsheathed. He glances around and locates his pants and trousers, tugging on both quickly and checking for his wallet before starting up the search again—socks this time. This is always the worst part, the afterward, and he’d like to get it over with as quickly as possible, which means getting dressed and out the door tout fucking suite.

“So is that it?” Angela asks, still naked, but at least under the covers. “That’s the ‘Malcolm Tucker experience?’”

“Disappointed?” he asks, sitting down on the bed to pull his newly found socks on. “Because you could have fooled me.”

“No, it was…very satisfactory,” Angela says slowly, and he glances back to see a small smile on her face. “But I guess I could expect no less, given your considerable…experience.”  
“Right,” he replies, getting to his feet and tugging his shirt on. “I’m the old whore of Westminster. Print that in the Mail, sure they’d eat it up.”

“That would make it easier for you to hold this over Ollie’s head, wouldn’t it?” she asks, and he arches an eyebrow at her as he buttons up his oxford. “And to think, you nearly gave all this up for the private sector.”

“Temporary insanity,” he says dismissively, tucking in his shirt and doing up his belt. “Won’t be making _that_ fucking mistake anytime again soon.”

“Glad to hear it,” Angela laughs. “You do tend to liven up the party.”

He doesn’t want to ask what she thinks “this” is. He probably shouldn’t have picked her up in that pub in the first place; he’s already regretting it. He had rules about these sorts of things—mostly don’t fuck anyone that can fuck his career—but Ollie had taken entirely too much pleasure in spreading around stories of Malcolm’s new “girlfriend.” Shagging his ex was low and juvenile, but it would still serve its purpose. And the sex had been decent enough; perhaps if Angela could keep her head on straight about it, an arrangement could be made.

He reaches over to the end table to pick up his phone and glances at it, frowning when he sees a missed call. His frown deepens when he sees who it is.

Peter Tyler.

He can’t fucking _wait_ to see what had happened for that bastard to work up the nerve to call him.

He shrugs into his suit jacket, stuffing his tie and phone into his pocket and makes for the door.

“You’re not even gonna stay the night?” Angela asks, and Malcolm pauses, his musings about an arrangement with her falling apart.

“I’ve got something to take care of,” he tells her, his hand on the doorframe of her bedroom as he glances around. “I can let myself out. I’ll…call you.”

She nods a little, and he gives her a tight, thin-lipped smile before exiting quickly. He leaves the flat hurriedly, lighting a cigarette as soon as he’s outside. He walks toward his car and leans back against the side as he pulls out his phone, staring at it for a moment. He can already feel the bile rising at the thought of talking to Tyler again, but the man hasn’t tried to contact him in years. It wouldn’t really pay to ignore him now. He lets out a frustrated growl as he dials, putting the phone up to his ear.

“Tyler,” the man snaps as he answers the call.

“I was getting laid,” Malcolm tells him. “So this better be fucking good.”

“Charming as ever, Tucker,” Tyler replies cooly. “Glad to hear you can still get it up.”

“What do you want, Tyler?” he asks, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“I had someone over here asking about you earlier,” Tyler says. “Thought I might give you a head’s up.”

“Professional fucking courtesy?” Malcolm sneers, stepping away from the car to pace along the pavement. “By ‘here,’ you mean…”

“Torchwood.”

“Of fucking course.” He takes a last drag of his cigarette and flicks it away before reaching for his pack again. “Because that place just hasn’t fucked me over enough already.”  
“Personal differences aside,” Tyler grinds out, and Malcolm takes a little pleasure in hearing the clenched teeth as he lights another cigarette, inhaling deeply, “you might want to stay alert.”

“How much of a threat is this person?” he asks.

“Not…sure,” Tyler says slowly. “Said they knew some counterpart of yours in a parallel world—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Malcolm spits. “This is like a bad fucking sci-fi movie. First your fucking dead wife, now some shadow person? It never fucking ends with you, does it? And you just can’t fucking keep it to yourself, oh no, you’ve got to spread it around like the fucking clap.”

“Look, I didn’t ask for this!” Tyler retorts. “I was just trying to give you some respect—”

“Respect?” Malcolm lets out a mirthless laugh. “Oh, that’s good. That’s very fucking good. Respect from the man who fucking burned me for the private sector.”

“I didn’t burn you, Tucker. You did that on your own.”

Malcolm takes another drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly. “No, ‘course not. Because it’s not as if you abandoned the company that I helped keep in the fucking black for years while you had a fucking pity party with the Preachers and then at Torchwood. Not as if it’s the fucking reason I had to put my ass on the fucking line when your dead wife suddenly comes back from nowhere, only to have that ass in a sling three months later when she leaves you and you fucking sell so that you can play fucking Mulder full time.”

“You could’ve gotten in with Berg—”

“Oh, horseshit!” Malcolm snaps. “Because working for you, I spread enough fucking filth about that cunt to block the fucking Thames. He wasn’t gonna let me within a fucking kilometer of that fucking buyout, much less his company.”

“Those aren’t the only companies in the private sector, Tucker,” Tyler retorts. “If you hadn’t decided to make your departure quite so fucking public—”

“You mean if I hadn’t gotten all the papers quoting me about what a piss-poor fucking excuse for a businessman you are?” Malcolm asks. “How you would have been fucking bankrupt years ago if it wasn’t for me and Hoffman working our asses off while you chased after tin men, even after they fucking disappeared?”

“It’s never good to burn your bridges, Tucker.”

“Oh, fuck you!” he shouts. “I didn’t fucking burn that bridge, you self-absorbed little fuck. You fucking _torpedoed_ it. I was made out to be a fucking tit, because not only had I been covering your fucking marital problems— _again_ —but I knew nothing about you fucking selling ‘til you told me to pack my fucking things. So don’t fucking talk to me about burning bridges.”

“Nevermind,” Tyler snaps. “I was just trying to give you a warning to help you out—”

“If it wasn’t for you and your fucking X-files, I wouldn’t need your fucking help,” Malcolm reminds him curtly. “So yeah, thanks for the warning, you fucking spooky twat, but next time, don’t do me any fucking favors. Nice talking.”

He stabs at the end button on his phone and takes another angry pull of his cigarette, then winces as the ache in his chest throbs to life. He drops the cigarette, drawing a sharp breath through clenched teeth and grabbing onto the car with white knuckles, waiting for it to pass. In another moment, it does, and he draws a shuddering breath, taking a moment to regain his strength before getting into his car and turning over the engine.

He hits the steering wheel when he rolls to a stop at a light, old anger and bitterness clawing at him. He wouldn’t admit it now on the pain of death, but life had been better when he’d been working for Tyler, trash though he turned out to be. He still had plenty of people to shout at, but it wasn’t nearly the constant stress diet he’s eating now that he’s back in politics. Things hadn’t been nearly so…strained with Annie when he’d first taken the job, and for a while, he actually liked being able to spend more time with her and her kids.

But then Jackie II had shown up and fucked up everything, teasing Pete with a second chance before taking off again, something about a daughter they never had—and really, if Jackie was anything to judge by, either one, it was probably a fucking blessing. _That_ girl would be a piece of fucking work. But the whole thing just turned Pete rotten; he’d gone from a disinterested CEO to a fucking absent one, then sold the place out from under the people who’d been working hundred hour weeks to keep it running.

Malcolm had blown his top, badmouthing Tyler and Berg everywhere he could. He’d already started losing ground with his family again and figured if that was all going to happen anyway, why not just go back to fucking politics? He was a fucking god there, after all…and even then he’d had to crawl back on his fucking knees.

At least he got to get some revenge on Steve “Punch My Smarmy Fucking Smile” Fleming.

Which leaves him here. Old, tired, blood pressure through the roof and probably about one good shock from a fatal fucking heart attack. And fucking Tyler had the nerve to accuse him of burning his fucking bridges.

Fuck him, Malcolm thinks as he parks his car in front of his flat. And any other fucking Tylers. They’re all fucking doom to him.

He heads inside, flipping on lights as he drops his briefcase. He shrugs out of his jacket, throwing it over one of the dining room chairs, made unusable by the stacks of files sitting on them, and walks into the kitchen. He peruses his choices of canned and frozen meals briefly before making a face and chucking one into the microwave at random, letting it start as he moves into the living room and flips on the telly. He lets the evening news drone as he pours himself a brandy, occasionally making snarky comments, both at the PM and his lackeys as well as Nicola and her fucking omnishambles.

He turns when he hears the words “bat people,” grinning evilly at the picture of Nicola and Helen, with Helen’s notebook blown up to fucking epic proportions. He gives it two months, tops, before Nicola’s reign of fucking idiocy topples and he can actually get some real fucking work done.

It’s not a huge win, but it’s a start, and after today, he fucking needs one. He goes back into the kitchen as the microwave dings, trying not to think about how his days always fucking end like this, if he’s not still in the office. At least at home he’s got the luxury of drinking himself into oblivion to get a couple hours of sleep. He decides that, given the fact that he’s alone and eating a fucking microwave meal while standing at the counter at the age of fifty-nine, he’ll count his stock of brandy as a win as well.

He’s gotta take them where he can.

It’s not until hours later, when he’s far too drunk to give a shit, that he realizes he didn’t even get a description from Tyler of the person asking about him.


	10. A Friendly Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose is relieved to find that at least one person she knows from her past life is still the same.

For a brief, horrifying second Rose thinks she’s ruined this before she has even begun. Just seeing Annie standing there, a look of surprise on her face, causes Rose to crumble; she missed her, missed seeing a friendly face, someone not instantly suspicious or guarded. So when Annie wraps her arms around Rose and pulls her inside, it’s all she can do to keep herself together long enough for Annie to guide her inside, soothing her as she sits Rose at her kitchen table to run and get the first aid kit.

“What happened?” Annie asks, as Rose hiccups trying to get herself under control.

“It’s… it’s a long story,” Rose manages, gratefully accepting the cool, damp cloth Annie hands her as Annie examines the cut on her head. She presses it to her face before folding it up to hold it against her forehead. “You probably won’t believe me if I told you.”

Annie hums. “After Lumic, I can pretty much believe anything. Try me.”

Rose swallows and winces as Annie starts to clean the wound. “Well… first things first, I’m from a parallel world...at least, I’m pretty sure. I was trying to capture a rogue alien when it attacked me, and I ended up here.”

“What, you mean that scientist was right?” Rose looks at her questioningly, and Annie shrugs. “Late night documentary. I couldn’t sleep, and I had to have something on.”

Despite herself, Rose smiles. Annie and Malcolm are a lot alike, in some ways. Their love of documentaries is one of them. “Yes, he is. Probably entirely behind the actual application, but his theory is correct.” She pauses, debating internally. Annie is probably desperately curious about why Rose showed up on her doorstep, and though Rose wants to tell her she’s not sure how much she will believe. But she needs to talk to someone before she bursts, so she finally admits, “you and I are best friends there.”

“Really?” Annie asks, and to Rose’s relief there isn’t any hostility in her voice. It’s a welcome change. “What’s my favorite color?”

“Orange,” Rose replies. “But everyone thinks it’s blue. And, before you ask, your childhood bedroom was cauliflower, and you absolutely hated the color so you made it your mission in secondary to cover it up with posters.”

Annie laughs. “God, yeah, I try to forget about that. Especially when I started Uni, and I couldn’t get some of them down without tearing them because I made the stupid decision to glue them to the wall.”

“Malcolm had to buy you new ones,” Rose says with a smile, and Annie stills.

“You know my brother?” She demands.

Rose immediately closes her eyes, before forcing them open to stare intently at a painting that Julie made hanging on the wall. “Yeah,” she says, softly. “I… we’re married.”

She sees Annie jerk in surprise in her periphery, and she moves so she can face Rose fully. “What? Now I know you’re joking. Mal swore he would never do that again, especially after…” her face hardens and she looks away.

“After Rebecca?” Rose asks, and Annie looks at her in surprise. “I know. I met her. She… she destroyed him, and I’ve never hated anyone more. But, I can prove it,” she says, and holds up her left hand.

Annie sucks in a breath when she sees the engagement ring, grabbing Rose’s hand. “But… that’s Mum’s ring,” she breathes out. “From when she was married to Mal’s dad. He showed it to me, years ago, and said that he didn’t know if anyone would ever wear it again.” Eyes wide, she looks at Rose. “Are you really telling the truth? Is my brother happy?”

“Well… he’s happier,” Rose admits. “You know him, he always find something to complain about. Just last week he was annoyed that his favorite Thai place raised their delivery prices by a quid, shouting that it was an injustice to the people.”

“That definitely sounds like my brother,” Annie laughs. Then, to Rose’s surprise, Annie pulls her into a tight hug, despite the fact that Rose is still pretty filthy. “I’m willing to believe you, because any world where Mal is happy is a world I want to believe in,” Annie says, and Rose closes her eyes as she hugs her back desperately. 

“I missed you,” Rose says, tears threatening again as her best friend holds her. “Everything is wrong here. My family is broken, my husband doesn’t know who I am, and I never existed here. I don’t have anywhere to go and I have no idea how to get back; you can’t imagine how thankful I am to see a friendly face.”

“Shh,” Annie says. “Don’t worry about that right now. Julie and Nathan are with their grandparents; you can stay here for a few days, just to get your affairs in order. Now come on; let’s get you cleaned up and looking like a regular human being again.”

Annie leads her to the guest bath, and Rose pulls out a towel from the cupboard, surprising Annie somewhat but she doesn’t comment. After making sure Rose is fine on her own, she leaves, and Rose gratefully steps into the shower, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to hold back the pain and panic that had been overwhelming her all day. She mechanically bathes and washes her hair, wincing as she works the dried blood out of her hair and accidentally pulling at the scab. She fingers it for a second--it’s long, but seems to be pretty shallow, and hopefully it won’t scar. 

By the time she’s done and steps out of the shower, Annie apparently had time to sneak in and gather up Rose’s fatigues and leave her a change of pyjamas--pink flannels with bright blue whales on them. She smiles slightly, sliding them on, and squeezes the water out of her hair as she walks downstairs to the kitchen. Annie is at the counter, fixing a grilled cheese sandwich, and she smiles as Rose slides onto one of the bar stools at the island. “Feel better?” Annie asks.

Rose nods. “Yeah, a little.”

Annie finishes with the sandwich, grabbing a bag of crisps and a soda and putting everything down in front of Rose. “Eat,” she says. “I bet you’re hungry.”

Rose blinks, astonished, when she realizes that she hasn’t eaten since breakfast that morning--and immediately feels like crying again, remembering waking up with Malcolm, making love in the shower, him cooking as she got dressed so that she could save a little time in getting ready. She presses the heels of her hands to her eyes, breathing deeply, before she manages to get herself under control and the biting hunger makes itself known.

Annie is thankfully silent even though she couldn’t have missed Rose struggling to control herself. She even gives Rose an extra helping of toast after she inhales the food and a glass of water.

“Thank you,” Rose finally says when she’s done. “You don’t have to take care of me, though.”

Annie waves her hand. “Consider it my good deed for the day,” she says. “Since the kids are in Glasgow, Julie’s room is yours.” 

Rose nods and wavers uncertainly before Annie picks up the dishes and places them in the sink before sitting down beside Rose. “So,” she says, propping her chin in her hand. “You’re married to Malcolm.”

“Yeah,” Rose says, a hint of pride in her words as she looks down at her rings. “Almost three years now, although we were seeing each other for a year before that. It’s been… hard, at times, for the both of us but I love him, and it’s worth it.”

“How did you meet?” Annie asks, fascinated.

She lets her mind drift back to that day, smiling. “I had just landed in that Universe… another long story. But Mum and I didn’t exist, and we needed a way to be brought to life, so to speak. Pete brought us to his office, and he was yelling on the phone to someone.” Annie laughs at that, and the sound does wonders in causing Rose to relax some more. "God, you should've seen him, Annie. I don't know if he's come up with a better story out of nowhere since. He spun it all, and you could just see how the public'd eat it up, especially coming from him. Mind you, I was against it, cause...well." Best not get into _that_ whole mess as well. "You could just tell he really loved what he did, and _winning_ , and he'd always find the best way to do it."

“He still works for Vitex, then?” Annie asks, softly.

Rose nods. “Yeah. Part-time for Torchwood, mostly when someone bollocks something up. Although he's managed to find some good reasons to be there lately, too," she adds with a grin. She'd lost count of the times she'd been focused on something in the Archive and been surprised by his hands on her waist and his lips on her neck, or had looked up in the training room to see him grinning at her from the door. “Still the monster hiding under the bed of the press, though.”

Annie shakes her head, wonder on her face. “It’s a bit… hard to wrap my head around,” she admits. “He was always a bit of a prick even before Vitex, but now that he’s back in politics… I don’t think there’s anything left of him. I barely even talk to him anymore, and when I do I can tell it’s under extreme protest.”

Heart aching, Rose pulls her into a hug. “I’m sorry,” she says, quietly. “Something happened here to mess everything up. But I’ll fix it. Even if I have to spend the rest of my life doing so.”

Annie sniffs and pulls away. “But we’re going to get you back before that happens.”

Rose smiles slightly. “Yeah.” She hesitates, then asks, “How are Jules and Nate? I know they love Malcolm, so not seeing him must be hard.”

“They miss him a lot,” Annie says sadly. “But his patience just isn’t there. When Pete hired him I thought that maybe he could actually start being happy again; we saw him for lunch a lot, not to mention a dinner or two here and there. Nate and Jules got to spend time with him, he wasn’t working himself to death… and then Pete Tyler sold the company without warning, barely giving Malcolm a day to clear out. He’d never admit it, but I know he felt betrayed. He started a smear campaign that damaged not only his reputation but also Tyler’s and whoever bought out the company, and eventually went back to politics. He stopped calling, he stopped coming ‘round… and when I took matters into my own hands and went to go see him, he acted as though I was a stranger.” 

“Talk about being hard to believe,” Rose says softly. “You two are inseparable in my Universe when I’m not keeping you to myself.” She grins, and to her relief Annie smiles back. “You and the kids have your own rooms in our house, and they’re at Malcolm’s office all the time when you’re busy with clients. We take them out to lunch at least once a week.”  


Annie is quiet for a moment, before she sighs. “It sounds… perfect.” She admits.

Rose yawns, breaking the moment, and flushes as Annie laughs. “Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Annie says, looping her arm through Rose’s as she guides her up the stairs. “We can plan on how you’re gonna get back in the morning.”

Rose follows her wearily, but pauses outside Julie’s room. “I guess I’ll just have to remember that… the sun will come out tomorrow.”

Annie stares, and then bursts out laughing. “You’re definitely married to my brother,” she gasps, then pulls Rose into a quick hug. “Goodnight. I have a few errands to run tomorrow morning, but I’ll be back before lunch. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”

Rose closes her door behind her, her smile fading slightly as she looks around the room. There are clothes thrown haphazardly around, and she moves a pile of clean clothes off the bed to the fluffy pink beanbag in the corner. With a sigh she sits down on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to press the heels of her hands into her eyes as she tries to get her brain to settle down.

She slides under the sheets, finding one of the pillows that works the best, and immediately drops into sleep. 

Not surprisingly, her dreams are of Malcolm.


	11. "Rescue Me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm fights for control when details about Rose's disappearance are found.

Days pass by in a haze for Malcolm. Pete had said he could have time off if he needed it, but he’d refused. For one thing, that would provide the same sort of glaring inconsistency that cancelling the party would. For another, he’d go mad if he didn’t have something to do. He’s more short-tempered than usual, which is saying something; although, to be fair, there’s been more than a few morons the last couple of years who’ve escaped the better part of his wrath only because he cared more about getting home to his wife than wasting a lot of time yelling at people. Now, however, there’s no such compulsion, so when he doesn’t feel like he’s sinking, he’s letting out his frustration at the utter inaction of Torchwood on everyone unfortunate enough to get on his bad side.

“You’re going to give yourself a heart attack,” Annie comments after a particularly...descriptive bollocking he gives someone over the phone when she stops by for lunch. “Or a stroke.”

“Au contraire,” he says, settling down again to poke at the chicken curry she’d brought, trying to ignore the fact that he’d been supposed to try the place she’d bought it from with Rose the day she disappeared. “Letting loose on these fuckstains keeps my levels of fucking irritation in more manageable ranges. Plus, the Vortex energy I got doused with has done fucking wonders for my heart and blood pressure; it seems intent on keeping me around a few centuries, whether I want to be or not.”

“Don’t say it like that,” she says quietly, and he glances up at her. “Still nothing from Pete?”

“No,” he says shortly. He’d haunted Torchwood the days after Rose went missing, trying to find _anything_ to do, needing to be there the minute they found anything, but Pete had finally chased him away, saying he was driving himself and everyone else mental. He’d call the minute they found anything, and Malcolm just had to find a way to cope with that.

He’s still looking.

Annie’s still staying at his house and it’s helping a little, but going home is becoming increasingly painful. Rose’s car is never there, and he doesn’t know what’s worse--the fact that he keeps expecting it to be, or the fear that one day he won’t. He still hasn’t slept in their bed because the sofa is bad enough. He tells himself it’s ridiculous--after all, it hasn’t even been a week, and she’s been on missions and business trips longer than that--but it’s no use. He can’t convince himself that she’s just in a hotel somewhere, safe and sound and missing him just as much.

It doesn’t help that no one is saying it but they all know that the longer they go without hearing from her or figuring out where she is, the less likely it is that she’ll be coming back. At Vitex people still think that she’s simply out of town, and the ribbing he’s getting for losing the ability to function without her makes him want to punch something. At Torchwood the glances of pity make him want to scream.

His conversation with Annie moves on to other topics--the kids coming home the next day, finishing touches on the annual Vitex fundraiser, a couple of Annie’s more frustrating clients--and he tries to focus. He’s positive Annie can tell that his attention is drifting, but she doesn’t remark on it. She never does. It’s not long before she’s giving him a kiss on the cheek and sweeping out of the room with the promise to see him tonight, and he turns once again to the various files and reports on his desk, burying himself away from reality once more. He manages it so completely that it takes several rings for him to notice the phone call an hour later...

“Tucker,” he snaps when he finally picks up.

“Malcolm,” Pete’s voice comes through, immediately penetrating the dense fog Malcolm’s surrounded himself with. “We’ve got something.”

“What is it?” he demands, already standing and reaching for his jacket. “Have you found her?”

“We...you’d better come down here,” Pete says slowly.

“You fucking--” Malcolm stops, running a hand over his face. “I’m on my way.”

Malcolm is more than a little worried about his father-in-law’s reluctance to share more over the phone, considering the news he’d gotten last time Pete played his cards so close to the chest, but something has to be better than nothing. He reminds himself of this several times on his way over to Torchwood.

Pete and Mickey are both once again in the director’s office when Malcolm reaches it, but he pushes the vertigo-inducing deja vu away, wasting no time in growling, “What’ve you got?”

Pete opens his mouth, then shakes his head, nodding at the file on his desk. “Take a look.”

Malcolm narrows his eyes at the lack of encouragement in Pete’s tone or words, stepping around the desk to sink into the chair and read. Most of it is basic biological descriptors that mean about as much to Malcolm as one of Nate’s pokemon cards, so he skims over it (although he does snort and glance up at Mickey when he reaches the note that although they bear a strong resemblance to Neila, coming from a sister world, they should not be mistaken as such). However, his blood runs cold at a description of the thing’s attack.

_Nyladi are far more offensive than their Neila counterparts and utilize a psychic component in their attacks that the later species lacks, as well as benefiting from what appears to be a remarkable sense of dimensions. This makes them far more dangerous, and should be approached with extreme caution. If cornered, they will attack; preliminary field readings indicate the possibility that victims of Nyladi attacks are transported to a completely alternate dimension. However, as no one has yet been recovered, it is difficult to determine exactly what this entails, whether victims find themselves in an alternate reality or simply the Void._

_Threat level: extreme._

Malcolm raises his eyes slowly from the file, his brain locking on the fact that no one has been recovered. Something in the back of his mind is clamoring for attention, but he can’t focus on it while the future that had been so long and bright burns in front of him.

“Listen, I know it looks bad--” Pete starts, and Malcolm looks up at him blankly.

“Bad?” he asks. “Bad is a traffic jam on the motorway. Bad is burning dinner. Bad is forgetting to record the latest episode of fucking _Eastenders_. This seems to be a bit fucking worse than that!”

“I know,” Pete says calmly, holding out his hands in a placating gesture. “But at least we know what we’re working with now.”

“What we’re fucking working with?” Malcolm repeats, surging to his feet. “We don’t fucking know anything! We don’t know if she’s in another universe, or in the fucking Void, or if she is in another fucking universe, what the fuck happened to her there! Nevermind that we’ve still got no fucking way to get her back, do we, ‘cause no one’s been fucking recovered!”

“Tucker, calm down--”

“No, I’m not going to fucking calm down!” Malcolm yells. “In case you’ve forgotten, this is my fucking _wife_ we’re talking about!”

“And she’s my daughter,” Pete snaps back, his tone becoming significantly harder. “You’re not the only one suffering here, Tucker.”

“You’re doing well, mate,” Mickey snorts, leaning against the wall, and Malcolm spins around to glare at him. “Yelling at your boss, the only one with the power to get people on this. Good strategy there, wish I’d thought of it.”

“You listen to me, son,” Malcolm growls, stalking toward him. “When I want your fucking opinion, I’ll fucking write it out for you, in tiny fucking words so that fucking pudding brain of yours have a chance of understanding. ‘Til then, shut your fucking mouth. Better yet, go wait in the fucking _van_ , since you’re so fucking good at that.”

“I was doing my job, same as her!” Mickey argues hotly. “Neither of us knew what we were up against, and I’ve been working my ass off ever since trying to find out!”

“Mickey was the one who found the file on the Nyladi,” Pete cuts in, before Malcolm can argue more.

“Yeah, that’s fucking great,” Malcolm mutters, turning away from Mickey and running a hand over his face. “Seeing in black and white how fucking hopeless the situation is makes it all fucking better, doesn’t it?” The thought that had occurred to him while reading finally breaks through and he pauses, head tilting as he turns back toward the other men. “The cannon.”

“What?” Pete asks, though a glance at Mickey tells him plainly that the boy knows exactly where he’s headed.

“The dimension cannon that Rose was building,” he explains. “It can send someone to another universe. That’s its whole fucking purpose. We can use that to get her back.”  


“Absolutely not,” Pete says, shaking his head.

“And why the fuck not?” he demands.

“Because in case you’ve forgotten, Tucker, it blew up, nearly killing you both!” Pete shouts in exasperation, but Malcolm scoffs, waving a dismissive hand.

“So we rebuild it,” he replies as Pete shakes his head, stepping around his desk. “That’s what you’ve got all this massive funding for, projects like that.”

“It’s not safe,” Pete argues.

“So we make it fucking safe!” Malcolm says stubbornly. “We rebuild it, test it, and don’t fucking try to use it before we’re sure.”

“He might have a point, boss,” Mickey says slowly, and Malcolm gestures to him in a “there, you see?” way. “If we could get it working, we could send someone over to her to retrieve her.”

“How?” Pete asks. “We don’t even know what universe she’s in, or if she’s in the Void. You’re not thinking this through!”

“You’re not thinking at all!” Malcolm thunders.

They glare at each other for a moment, wills battling silently, before Pete takes a deep breath and and looks down, leaning on the desk. 

“I’m sorry, Tucker,” he says as he looks up again, looking immensely tired, but determined. “I can’t authorize the cannon. I’m not risking any more of my family without justification. We’ll find another way.”

A muscle works in Malcolm’s jaw as he stares Pete down. Logically, he knows what Pete is implying should mean something, but all he sees is something else standing in his way.  


“Find it fast,” he snaps finally, then turns on his heel and strides out.

He decides without much regret to just head home rather than return to Vitex, probably saving a lot of individuals from an attack on their self worth in retaliation against his impotent rage. Annie’s still out with a client when he gets there, although the dog is laying on the porch. It lifts its head as Malcolm approaches, its tail giving a few hesitant wags.

“Oh, just fucking beat it, would you?” he grumbles as he fishes out his keys. “She’s the one who likes you, not me. I just don’t wanna hear the lecture about fucking cruelty to animals when she gets back.”

The dog whines a little, dropping its head back to its paws, and Malcolm rolls his eyes with an irritated sound as he unlocks the door and pushes it open. He makes for the stairs, then stops with his hand on the bannister, his eyes sliding closed.

_No one has yet been recovered._

He swallows hard, turning away from the stairs to head into the dining room, dropping his briefcase on the table and shrugging out of his suit jacket. He rolls up his sleeves as he heads into the kitchen, then loosens his tie and opens the fridge. He does a cursory inspection of the dinners Nadia left--lasagna and some sort of stew--then pulls out a bottle of lager, twisting the cap off before walking back to the living room and dropping onto the sofa. His eyes narrow when he notices the pillows on one end; he hadn’t brought them down, and Annie wouldn’t go in his room without him there. Which left Nadia. Their part time housekeeper must have noticed the rumpled throw blankets on the sofa back and decided for herself that Malcolm should be more comfortable if that’s where he insisted on sleeping. The tiny thoughtfulness makes his lips twitch a little as he turns his head back to the telly, and he takes a pull from the lager bottle as he switches the box on and flips through the channels.

“Of course, this idea of alternate universes is still simply a theory,” someone says on a science program, and Malcolm pauses on the channel, furrowing his brows. “We may never know whether these places actually exist, or are at all possible to travel to.”

“Cheers, mate,” he snorts, flipping to the next channel. “Keep fucking telling yourself that.”

Half an hour later, Annie makes an appearance, quickly grabbing her own lager and plopping down next to him, curling her legs underneath her. If she noticed his briefcase on the dining room table, she doesn’t comment.

She does, however, say, “You’re home early. Something happen?”

“Sort of,” he tells her, not turning away from the television. “They figured out what the alien was. Apparently, not so unidentified, just not known to everyone.”

“And?” Annie asks, turning to face him more completely when he doesn’t continue, propping her arm up on the sofa back and resting her head on her fist.

The blessed numbness that he’s functioned within for the last week is starting to fracture. He’d been able to use his anger and frustration to keep himself together in the Director’s office, but sitting at home with Annie, surrounded by reminders of Rose that only serve to make him feel her absence more keenly, it’s getting more difficult. It had started at the idea of entering their bedroom and his study, and had been getting steadily worse.

He takes a deep breath, willing himself to carry on. “Uh. She’s stuck in another dimension. Not sure where or what’s there. Or how to get her back.”

Annie’s quiet for a moment, then raises her head to lay her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “They’ll figure it out. They’ll bring Rose home.”

“How?” he asks, his voice hollow as he finally turns his head toward her.

“Well...I dunno,” she admits, a little startled. “But that’s why I work in interior design, not at Torchwood. I’m sure they’ve got...all sorts of things to fix something like this.”

“One,” he says. “They have one thing that could fix this. And Pete already vetoed it. He says it’s not safe, that they’ll find something else, and meanwhile, the cannon plans are just sitting there, and Rose is stuck god knows fucking where, and we’re just _leaving_ her there.” He sucks in a sharp breath as his voice breaks a little. His eyes are burning as he swallows hard, desperately fighting to keep from falling apart. “What if they can’t find something, Annie? Or what if they’re too late? What if I never get Rose back?”

“Oh, Mal,” Annie murmurs, then reaches for him, wrapping her arms around his neck as his vision blurs and the lump in his throat threatens to choke him. He hugs her back, using her as an anchor to keep himself from losing it completely as his eyes slide closed.

After a long moment, he releases her with a sniff, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. Annie makes a sympathetic sound, rubbing his arm gently as he takes a shuddering breath.

“I told you before,” she says quietly, “I doubt Rose is just sitting around, wherever she is. And Pete’s not going to give up either, even if he knocked down your idea today. He loves her too. It’s not over, Mal. You’ll get her back.”

He lowers his arms, glancing at her briefly before turning back to the television. “Yeah.”

She scoots closer and lowers her head to his shoulder, and he rests his own head against hers with a sigh, picking up the remote to start flipping through the channels again. He sinks slowly back into numbness as the afternoon turns to evening and Annie gets up to heat up the stew in the fridge. She goes to bed a few hours after his poor attempt to eat, claiming she’s got to meet a client in Guildford early before picking the kids up from the train in the afternoon. She drops a kiss on his head as she heads upstairs, and he watches her go before getting up and heading into the kitchen.

It’s only when he’s getting the bowl and dog food that he realizes that it’s started to rain. He narrows his eyes at the window, then turns for the back door. When he opens it, he finds the dog sitting near the door with it’s back to him, in the small area of coverage over the patio. It turns its head when it hears the door, giving Malcolm a look of complete misery that matches his own mood. They eye each other a moment before Malcolm rolls his eyes with a sigh.

“Fine, come on,” he says, opening the door wider. The dog merely stares at him. “Well, are you fucking coming in or not?”

He gestures with the bag of food, and it’s apparently all the invitation the little fucker needs. He dashes in before Malcolm has a chance to change his mind.

“Just for tonight,” he warns, setting the bowl down and filling it with food. “And you stay in the kitchen, understand?”

The dog ignores him, tucking into the food dish. Malcolm shakes his head and puts the food away before returning to the living room. He toes off his shoes and lays back on the sofa, his arm behind his head on the pillows. After about ten minutes, he hears the click of toenails on the wooden floor and looks up to see the dog trotting toward him.

“Oi, I told you, kitchen only!” he hollers, gesturing back at the hall with the remote. The dog pauses, then comes closer at a slower speed, lying down next to the sofa and looking up at Malcolm. “Jesus, you never fucking listen, do you?” The dog whines a little, lowering its head to its paws. Malcolm sighs and flips to a biopic he’s seen at least four times, then reaches over the dog to set the remote down on the coffee table. “Just for tonight,” he repeats, even while lowering his hand to scratch the dog’s ears.

They both need company...and someone to rescue them from the rain.


	12. Death of a Tin Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Rose's internet research into Mickey and her mother proves disastrous, Annie comes up with an alternative method.

Malcolm presses her into the mattress as he rolls on top of her, and Rose reaches up to grip his shoulders, arching up to feel him hard against her. He whispers her name as he presses a series of kisses down her neck, pausing at that spot near her collarbone that always makes her shiver. Rose grinds up into him in response, begging him to do something and stop teasing her-- his hands slide up her arms to move them above her head, one holding them there while the other slides down to her waist, gripping it as she wraps her legs around him.

There’s a roaring sound nearby, like an ocean or a train, but all Rose is aware of is the man above her, kissing her deeply, and Rose sighs as he presses down against her, providing a much-needed source of pressure even as she rolls her hips underneath him. For some reason she’s sad, and she struggles not to cry as he worships her, sliding her knickers down and crawling back up her body, kissing her again as he slides two fingers into her--

She wakes up with a cry, tears falling as she gasps into the pillow. It’s worse than any nightmare, seeing her husband in her dreams and unable to reach for him when she wakes up. It had been like that all night--their wedding, cuddling on the sofa, and now this. Despite the early hour she’s scared to go back to sleep, choosing instead to take a long shower and get her emotions back under control. She’s stronger than this, has survived this before--but it hurts worse this time around. All she has to do is look at her rings to know that.

Annie is gone by the time Rose finally drags herself to the kitchen, and she puts on some tea and slowly eats a cereal bar, not really tasting it. The tea helps wake her up somewhat, but it’s still with a heavy heart that she stares uncertainly around the house, unsure of what to do.

She spies Annie’s computer sitting on the coffee table and hesitates for only a second before moving over to it. She opens it up, entering the date of Malcolm’s graduation as the password, before opening up the browser. 

For a second, she hesitates, wondering if she’ll even like what she finds out--but she enters her mother’s name into the search bar, finding articles about her miraculous return from the dead, smiling a little when she sees Malcolm’s fingerprints all over the story. There’s far less dated a few months later when she leaves again, just a statement or two about how the marriage had failed, had been failing for a while, and how both she and Pete didn’t want to pretend anymore. There’s a small note in one of them where Jackie said she was leaving the celebrity life, but after the public announcement of their divorce, there’s nothing.

Rose searches for a few more minutes, trying increasingly creative searches, but nothing comes up. She sighs in frustration; this world’s version of her husband had hidden her, and hidden her well, apparently. And for all that she knows him there are still some secrets that she couldn’t crack and times where he surprised her with his ruthlessness. Jackie couldn’t be found unless she wanted to be, and Rose definitely wouldn’t find her like this.

She types in Mickey’s name next, smiling as she reads an article about the Preachers and them exposing Torchwood. There’s a lot about the Preachers themselves, but nothing to indicate how to get into contact with Mickey. She can’t show up at Torchwood again, for obvious reasons, and she doesn’t know where his flat is since he had moved shortly after she had arrived in her current dimension in order to keep a better eye on her. She huffs, irritated, before clicking on another one that has the title of “Where are They Now?”

She skims the information regarding Jake and Pete, and finally finds Mickey--still going as Rickey, apparently. The name makes her pause, and she backspaces to edit the name change. While the other articles simply use Smith, it makes sense that she would get better options if she used the alias of a dead man.

It startles her when the first thing she finds is an obituary.

Though it makes sense--after all, Rickey had died, his body had to go somewhere--something about it is nagging at her. It makes no mention of the Cybermen, instead blaming an explosion at an undisclosed facility. She clicks the link and reads through it--Mickey, or Rickey, had been found in a flash fire at an abandoned warehouse. The authorities didn’t know how he got in or what he was doing there, but Mickey been dead by the time they reached him. Her eyes flash to the date--a little over a year ago.

She stares at it in horror. She remembers the listed date and the corresponding mission where she had saved his life -- she had in fact dislocated her shoulder in the process. They were chasing a fire sprite and it had turned aggressive quickly. Rose had practically tackled him out a window as the demon hurled fireballs at them, and despite the four foot drop had landed wrong. Jake had activated the fire alarm seconds later, dousing the creature, but the fire it had caused had been large enough that they could only do damage control. Rose had been sent back home due to her shoulder as they took off after the creature, finding it a few days later and managing to sneak up on it and contain it.  
But she wasn’t there to save him in this world. And because of that Mickey had been killed.

She wished the Universe hadn’t given her any more of a reason to make this world her own personal hell.

She leaves the computer, rushing to the bathroom and throwing up the little she’d been able to eat into the toilet before collapsing to the floor, sobbing into her knees as she wraps her arms around her legs. Her oldest friend had died because she wasn’t there to keep him safe. She’d wondered before what would have happened if she’d stayed with the Doctor, if she hadn’t lost her grip on that stupid lever, but this seems like a sick cosmic joke. Everyone she cares about is...just wrong, and it’s looking more likely that it all comes back to that moment.

She doesn’t know how long she sits there crying, but eventually Annie arrives and finds her. Rose clings to her, shaking, wishing that she could just wake up from this nightmare already. She’d even take taunts from her coworkers for the next five years if it meant getting back home.

“What happened?” Annie asks when Rose finally calms down.

“Mickey…” she trails off, then swallows as she presses her forehead to Annie’s shoulder. “Mickey’s my oldest friend, ended up in my Universe before me and helped me adjust when I found out I was stuck there. But here… here he’s dead. Because I wasn’t there to save him. I only looked him up so I could find my Mum, but he’s… he’s gone. He’s supposed to be getting married to Martha, I was at their engagement party two days ago... “

Annie rubs her back. “We’ll get you back to him, Rose. Don’t worry.” She pulls her up. “I bought you a few change of clothes since it looks like you’re going to be here a few days. Don’t,” she warns when Rose starts to shakily protest. “It’s the least I can do. Now c’mon. This is the only time of the year that I’m completely childless for more than a few hours, and I wanna celebrate.”

Rose sniffs and rubs her eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

“Ice cream, chocolate, and cheesy romance movies,” Annie announces. “Come on. We’re having a girl day, and I even bought do-it-yourself spa masks. We both need some pampering.”

She allows Annie to guide her to the sofa, and the red head quickly shuts down the laptop before dumping a few bags into Rose’s lap. “Where do you want to start?” 

Rose reaches into the bag and pulls out a box of nail polish. “I guess here.”

“Sounds good to me,” Annie replies, and sits down beside her.

oOoOoO

A few days pass in this style--Annie making sure to keep Rose busy, even if it‘s just shuffling around color swatches as Annie works on some projects for clients. One notable afternoon is spent chasing after a specific painting that someone wants that is finally found shoved behind a few dirty couches in a pawn shop, and it’s the first night that Rose doesn’t dream of the life she was forced away from, too exhausted to really pay attention even if she did. When she isn’t with Annie, however, Rose feels jittery, restless from inaction and determinedly wearing a trail in the carpet from her pacing as she puts facts together and tries to make sense of it all.

In her spare time, she continues searching for her Mum, trying phone numbers and even calling up family members--no one’s heard of her, or seen her, since before she and Pete supposedly divorced. It frustrates her immensely, but Rose doesn’t give up, doggedly chasing down every lead she can find.

Annie finds her one night in her room after she gets off the phone with the landlord at the Powell Estate, who was supremely confused as to why Rose was calling about a rich socialite. “Any luck?” she asks as she fiddles with a hairbrush and a few ties, and Rose shakes her head.

“Nothing. Malcolm hid her well.”

“About that…” Annie starts, before clambering behind Rose, sinking into the mattress before beginning to separate Rose’s hair. “What if you used my brother to find out where she is?”

Rose snorts, holding the tie Annie hands her. “He doesn’t know me, Annie, I doubt that he’ll give up her location even if I flutter my lashes.”

“Maybe not at first,” Annie says. “But I have friends, and I know his PA. She’ll be happy to take some time off if you take over her job.”

For a moment, Rose can’t speak, stunned. “You want me to… become Malcolm’s PA?”

“Why not? It’ll allow you to keep an eye on him, and you know him well enough to be an excellent PA. And while I swear his filing system is coded--”

“He labels them in order of importance by his favorite to least favorite television episodes,” Rose replies.

“What, really?” Annie asks, pausing in her work. “I knew it! That liar.”

Rose smiles slightly. “Don’t worry, I didn’t find out until a year after we were married, and that’s only because I caught him looking them up online.”

Annie laughs as she begins to braid Rose’s hair. “I don’t doubt it. Anyway, since you obviously know his filing system, maybe you can use that to find your mum.”

Rose chews on her thumbnail as she mulls it over. “It’s… not terrible,” she admits. “But he probably doesn’t have that on file, Annie. He probably just gave her some cash and told her to get lost. He doesn’t want to know, especially after what you told me my dad did,” she adds, sadly. 

“Maybe, maybe not,” Annie replies. “Hair tie.” Rose hands it over. “But it wouldn’t hurt. I have a friend in human resources, she can let your paperwork slide through, and Sam can ask for you as a replacement. She’s been wanting to go on vacation with her boyfriend for a while now anyway.”

“Is she still dating Thomas?” Rose asks.

“No, some guy named Harvey,” Annie replies. “Apparently Thomas had the misfortune of meeting my dear old brother, and he scared him off.”

Rose winces. “Right. Yeah. I remember that. He and Sam had gotten into a fight and Sam was obviously upset the next day. It took Malcolm maybe ten minutes to figure out what happened and he was calling him up seconds later. I had to play peacemaker for all their sakes.”

“I’m glad he has you,” Annie says, not for the first time. “He’s lost, Rose. And I don’t know how to bring him back.”

She sighs. “Yeah. I know. But…” she hesitates. “I don’t know if I can save him, Annie. He’s… different now. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up, especially because I have my husband to get back to.”

“I know,” Annie replies as she finishes the other braid. “I wouldn’t ask that of you. But this may be a good chance of finding out where your mum is, and I get to have someone keep an eye on him for me, even better that you know him so well. And, well,” she sighs, and moves to sit beside Rose. “Your Malcolm recognized your worth. Maybe… maybe you can prevent my brother from working himself into an earlier grave, just for a little bit.”

Rose reaches over to squeeze her hands, changing the subject. “Do you really think you can get me in?”

Annie nods. “I do. Although you’ll have to get a flat soon; staying here while you’re working for my brother is… probably not the smartest thing.”

She winces. “Yeah. That’ll give the game up pretty quickly. He’s always been protective over his family.”

“That’s an understatement,” Annie mutters, before shaking her head. “Right. I got a few calls to make...it’ll take a couple days to get Sam and HR to agree, probably...give you time to sort out the flat and things.. Sound alright with you?”

Rose takes a deep breath before nodding. “Yeah. I’ve just… got to remind myself that he isn’t my Malcolm.”

Annie’s smile softens. “If I know my brother, Rose,” she says, “he’ll be trying to get you back. Hang in there. At some point, the Universe has got to be kind.”


	13. One Of Those Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm struggles to cope with Sam's replacement

“Listen to me,” Malcolm says into his mobile as he hurries through the the maze of headquarters. “I don’t fucking care how sick the doctors think your mother is. We had a fucking meeting. So if you’re not in my fucking office in twenty minutes, I will personally go down there and piss in her IV bag so that she’s no longer a fucking concern. Is that fucking clear?” He rings off before the man on the other end has a chance to stammer an answer and frowns at the woman sitting at his PA’s desk. “And who the fuck are you?”

“Your PA, Ma--Mister Tucker,” she says, standing and smoothing a hand down the front of her business suit.

“No, you’re not,” he tells her, glancing around. “Where the fuck is Sam? Sam? Sam!”

“She’s on holiday, sir,” the woman says. “HR called me to fill in for her.”

“Nice of them all to fucking inform me,” he snaps.

“There’s a memo on your desk about it, sir,” she explains.

“Of fucking course there is,” he growls, casting a critical eye over her. “Next they’ll be sending me a fucking crate with a note that says ‘crowbar fucking inside.’ Hang on, do I know you?”

“I--I don’t think so,” she says, her cheeks flushing a little.

“You're lying,” he accuses. “Badly. Why?”

“I’m not--”

“Oh fuck me!” he shouts suddenly, recognizing the blonde when she looks down, hooking her hair behind her ear. “You’re that fucking nutter from last week, aren’t you? Oh, that’s just fucking perfect. My PA goes on vacation at a crucial fucking time, and they’ve replaced her with a fucking lunatic. That just fucking figures.”

“I’m sorry about that,” she says quickly. “I had...an accident, I’d hit my head. Concussion and all that, I was confused. I mistook you for someone else. I’m really very sorry, Mister Tucker.”

He eyes her for a moment. If he flat out fires her, it could be ages before HR sends him someone else--apparently, word had gotten around that he had what he liked to call a low tolerance for fucking incompetency, so the temps generally tried to avoid working for him at all costs. Which is usually fine, since he usually has Sam, barring the odd sick day...but apparently that is no longer the case, at least for now. Even a psychotic PA is better than no PA, in theory, provided she doesn’t try to lace his coffee with arsenic.  


“Fine,” he barks eventually, moving past her to his office. “But a move out of line and you're back in the fucking temp pool, understood?”

“Yes, Mister Tucker,” she says demurely, ducking her head.

“What’s your fucking name, anyway?” he asks, pausing at the door.

“Rose, sir,” she tell him. “Rose Tyler.”

“Tyler?” He turns to face her more fully. “Any relation to Peter Tyler?”

“Think I’d be working as a temp if I were?” she asks, flashing a grin at him, her tongue poking out a little from her teeth.

“Suppose not,” he says, frowning at her. His eyes narrow a little as he’s hit again with the feeling that he’s seen her before, apart from the strange meeting the week before. He shakes his head, pushing the thought away. “What the fuck do I know? Not like he’s exactly loyal. Still, probably best. Don’t need any relations of his hanging about the fucking place. They’d probably bankrupt the fucking party. Or try to sell it. Seems to be his thing.”

He turns, stepping into his office and dropping his briefcase on his desk before reaching for the various memos and messages that seemed to multiply on his desk overnight. He slips on his glasses as he scans the memo about Rose, finding nothing amiss, and is a little disappointed.

“Rose!” he shouts as he shuffles through the rest of the pile.

He doesn’t look up as she enters, asking, “Need something, Mister Tucker?”

“Yeah, coffee, very very...black,” he says, frowning as she sets a cup down on his desk. “Right.” He narrows his eyes as he looks up at her, and she rolls her own.

“Oh, like you Type A personalities drink it any other way,” she scoffs...then stuns him by winking at him. “Anything else?”

“I...no,” he says, blinking at her. “No, that’s fine.”

She smiles at him, then turns to leave. His brows furrow as he watches her go, and he has the sudden inexplicable urge to let Ben know that yes, matter of fucking fact, the nutter was cute.

oOoOo

“Oh for fuck’s sake, it’s not even fucking important!” Malcolm shouts into the phone. “It’s just some piddly ass fucking--FINE, I’ll get the god damn file!” he hollers when the man argues, then covers the mouthpiece with his hand. “Rose! I need the policy on fucking dog leashes, for some ungodly fucking reason.” She steps into his office with a frown, rummaging through his filing cabinet for a minute before he realizes she’s got no fucking idea where to look. At least Sam had been able to pick up on a general geographical location based on his tone, but this girl--

He makes an irritated sound, dropping the phone on the desk as he steps around it, ready to tell her not to fucking bother. He stops short, however, when she turns and holds out the file. He takes it from her and glances over it, then looks back up at her.

“No one liked _The Girl in the Fireplace_ ,” she says with a smirk, then taps on the file. “Friend of mine has a similar system. Took me ages to figure it out. Glad to see it’ll be useful for more than just messing with his head.”

“Right,” he says as she turns on her heel and walks out again.

He walks back to his desk slowly, trying to decide if he’d stumbled on a complete fucking psychotic with a bizarre fixation on him or the best fucking PA he could ask for.

oOoOo

It’s long past noon and several terse phone calls and meetings later that she enters his office again. He’s standing behind his desk, one hand on his hip while two fingers of the other drum against the surface as he pores over a press release.

“Forget something?” she asks, and he looks up with furrowed brows.

“I doubt it,” he tells her, though his mind whirrs through the morning and his eyes wander to his calendar.

“Food, Mister Tucker,” she says gently, and he looks up at her again with a blank expression. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it. Though it looks like you’ve agreed to see other people lately,” she adds, and he glances down at himself.

He’d taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, and even he could admit that he probably looks a bit...undernourished. Still, it’s isn’t her fucking business, much less her place to comment.

“Is this fucking going somewhere?” he snaps, looking back at the press release.

“God, you are such a grouch,” she says, then disappears when he looks back up. He raises his eyebrows at the spot she had occupied, then straightens completely when she reappears with several cartons. “I was in the mood for Thai and thought I might get you some as a peace offering for the way I was sprung on you.”

He slips off his glasses as he picks up a carton and eyes it suspiciously. “This place isn’t in Westminster.”

“I know,” she says, glancing at it as she opens another one and sets it on his desk. “I used to work in Canary Wharf, and they have the best Thai in London. Worth the extra delivery cost.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” he mutters, opening up the carton and sniffing it, then cutting his eyes to her. “You didn’t fucking poison it, did you? Revenge for calling you a nutter?”

A strange look crosses her face for a split second, gone before he could even properly categorize it. If he had to, he’d say...pain, and lots of it. But then she’s smiling again, and shaking her head.

“‘Course not,” she says, opening the last carton and setting it down. “Too cliche. If I was gonna kill you, I’d be a lot more creative than that.”

“Noted,” he tells her, his lips twitching a little as she turns to go.

When she closes the door behind her, he takes stock, stunned that she managed to get all his favorites. He sinks into his chair with the first bite--he hasn’t had anything from this place since he left Vitex. He decides quickly that he doesn’t give a shit if she is psychotic...so long as she doesn’t try to kill him, this makes it totally worth it.

oOoOo

By three, he’s completely lost his patience for fucking humans in general. Loud, whiny, bloody minded bags of guts and fucking contrariness for the fucking sake of it. But that’s his fucking job, dealing with all these fucking morons who haven’t got a clue how to find their own arses if he attached their fucking hands to their cheeks with sellotape.  


“What?” he snaps when Rose knocks on his partially open door.

“Problem?” she asks.

“People,” he answers. “People are my fucking problem.”

“Right,” she says slowly.

“Did you need something?” he asks gruffly. “I’ve still got a lot to get through--”

“No, nevermind,” she says quickly, backing out the door again. “No worries.”

He raises his eyebrows at another example of her strangeness, then shakes his head and turns back to the interview he’s been reading. He gets another ten minutes of blessed fucking silence before he hears Ollie’s voice outside his office and rises with an irritated huff, hoping he can cut him off quick outside. He pauses when he reaches the partially open door, however.

“No, I’m sorry...Mister Reeder, was it?”

Oh, he would fucking insist on that.

“Yes, that’s right, and I need to see Malcolm--”

“Well, I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Rose says, and Malcolm frowns in confusion. “Like I said, he’s busy on a call, he can’t be disturbed by anyone.”

“I’m not anyone,” Ollie assures her, and Malcolm rolls his eyes almost to the point of pain.

“Well, then, I’m sure he’ll be delighted to read your message,” Rose replies easily. Malcolm smirks as Ollie sputters before finally giving in.

“Fine, give me the pen,” he orders irritably. Malcolm's about to turn away when Ollie continues. "You're new, aren't you?"

"Just filling in while Sam's on vacation," Rose tells him.

"Have we met before?" he asks, and Malcolm stiffens. All he fucking needs is for Ollie to realize who she is, spreading around some wank about him being a bleeding heart with a soft spot for nutters that accost him in the street.

"Don't think so, no," she replies. "Must just have one of those faces."

"It's a nice face, anyway," Ollie comments. Malcolm rolls his eyes, running a hand down his face. Forget recognizing her, it'll be far worse if Ollie fucks her. He'll never fucking hear the end of that, not to mention the fact that the little gnat’ll be hanging around that much more. "If you're going to have one of those faces, I mean. Listen, I'm sort of a big deal around here, dunno if anyone's told you."

"Well, there's you," she says, her tone gaining a mocking edge to it.

“Right, well, just mean I could...take you under my wing, sort of thing,” he says. “Show you around, maybe...take you out to lunch. Sort of let people know not to try anything with you.”

“Whereas being closely associated with Malcolm Tucker would do no such thing,” she says drily, and Malcolm grins despite himself at Ollie’s awkward cough. “I appreciate the offer, Mister Reeder, but I’m just fine without your...wing.”

“The offer stands,” he says. “Going once...twice...nah, it’s fine. But, you know, if you ever change your mind about lunch--or, you know, doesn’t have to be lunch, could be drinks after work or...you know...dinner, or something--”

“I’m seeing someone, Mister Reeder,” she interrupts. “Do you think this is entirely appropriate?”

“Right, I’ll just...listen, there’s no need to mention this to Malcolm, right?” he asks, his voice moving further down the hall. “Wouldn’t want him to get any wrong ideas.”

“Of course not,” Rose says. After a moment, probably once Ollie is out of earshot, he hears her mutter, “As if I’d have to tell Malcolm Tucker what’s happening outside his own office.”

He turns then, spinning on his heel and walking back to his desk. There’s still a faint smile on his face as he settles down once again with another interview, thinking he could definitely learn to get along with any PA that keeps Ollie away and shuts him down so thoroughly.

oOoOo

Malcolm lights a cigarette as he steps out of the building a little after six, briefcase in hand.

“Those will kill you, you know,” Rose says, following a few steps behind him.

“Life will kill me,” he says with a shrug. “Greatest single cause of death--”

“--being born?” she finishes, then shakes her head. “That’s really morbid. It’s not about the beginning or end, anyway. It’s what you do in between.”

“When I feel like getting into a fucking philosophical debate about mortality, I’ll come to you,” he says, arching an eyebrow. “Til then, I’m going home.”  
“You didn’t call HR?” she asks as he turns, and he pauses, glancing back at her.

“No...you did well enough,” he allows reluctantly. “But I’ll be watching you,” he adds quickly when her lips turn up.

“Watch all you like,” she replies, flashing a teasing, tongue-touched smile as she turns in the opposite direction, walking away without glancing back.

“Was she flirting with you?” Ollie demands, pulling Malcolm’s slightly baffled gaze from his PA’s retreating form. “Are you joking me? She totally rejects even lunch from me, but she flirts with you, the fucking cryptkeeper of politics.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time a woman recognized my superiority to you,” he replies, reaching for his phone. “Get used to it.” He glances down to dial a number, then puts the phone up to his ear with a wink at Ollie. “Yes, hello, Angela...was wondering if you were free tonight.”


	14. Shop Til You Drop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annie helps Rose settle in and prepare for her new job

“So,” Annie says critically as Rose lets her in, “this is your new place?” 

Rose shrugs, leading Annie into the small flat. “Only thing I can find that lets me do a monthly lease and is close to work. It’s pre-furnished, too, so that’s a bonus.”  
  
Annie wrinkles her nose. “Don’t want to think about who used the sofa beforehand.”

“Me neither,” Rose says with feeling. “I need to get a cover for it, and a new mattress protector and sheets. Some of those stains look… wrong.”

Her best friend sighs as she sits down in a chair at the table. “Well, it’s not bad,” she admits. “At least you can look around and see everything at once if you hear suspicious noises. Where’s the loo?”

“Behind that door,” Rose points. “It’s, er, shared.”

“We _have_ to fix that lock,” Annie declares. “But first, we need to take you shopping. There’s a second-hand store not too far from here that I use a lot. Some of their dresses make for excellent upholstery.”

Rose laughs and follows Annie out. “I don’t doubt it. I’ve made a list here with all the things I can feasibly buy on my new salary, even though I’m using the Torchwood credit card. I’m not gonna use a lot of it, though; don’t want anyone getting suspicious when they can’t account for some of the money.”

“Hopefully you won’t be here long enough for it to be an issue,” Annie says, looking over the list. “Here, you can cross this off--just by swapping shirts and trousers you can have an entirely different wardrobe with only three outfits. Though you seriously need shoes.”

Rose sighs. “Why trainers aren’t appropriate attire I’ll never know.”

Annie leads her to the store, both of them searching for appropriate work attire and a few every day clothes. Rose is able to find another three blouses, two pairs of trousers, and a skirt that will match both of her blazers, as well as a few cheap necklaces for variety. Two summer dresses, a pair of blue jeans, and two generic t-shirts completed the purchases.

“Do we have to buy heels?” Rose complains as they walk into the nearby shoe store after stowing the bags in Annie’s car. “The last time I wore them I nearly tripped going across the stage at a charity benefit.”

“You need at least one pair for the skirt,” Annie replies. 

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Rose grumbles. “Let’s get this over with.”

After about half an hour of Rose resisting every one of Annie’s options--the heels are too tall, they pinch, they’re too sparkly--she finally decides on a pair of nude pumps and a pair of black kitten heels. They mutually decide to take a break on the clothes shopping, carting everything back to Rose’s flat to put into the old wooden wardrobe and deciding on what Rose needs the most for home furnishings.

Annie, of course, immediately shifts into interior decorator mode; seconds after Rose brings up the couch, she starts planning out color schemes and balance, excitedly deciding that the color of the bedspread should be found as a minor color in the living area. Rose has to calm her down, reminding her that she doesn’t need a flat worthy of a magazine page, she just needs a safe place until she can get back.

“Sorry,” Annie says, sheepishly. “But just because you aren’t staying here long doesn’t mean you can’t make it, well, comfortable.”

Rose smiles slightly. “It will never be home, Annie. I’m fine with this, trust me.” At Annie’s look she sighs. “Okay, fine, I’ll let you pick out some of the colors.”

“Yay!” Annie exclaims and pulls Rose into a hug. “I’ll take care of the kitchen and couch, don’t worry. You just focus on finding a bed set.”

Annie gets a phone call shortly after they leave Rose’s flat from Nate and Julie, who are chattering about their upcoming trip to the zoo and how their grandparents are taking them to a movie afterwards. Rose can tell the exact instant they ask about Malcolm because Annie’s expression tenses up and her words are carefully vague. After a few more moments of small talk, Annie hangs up, and Rose smiles. “They’re having a good time, then?”

Annie nods. “Yeah. Nate’s still begging me to allow him to join his school footie team; that boy doesn’t take no for an answer.”

“Dunno,” Rose says, thinking of how her own Nate is the team star, “I think it’ll be good for him.”

Annie eyes her. “What aren’t you saying?”

“Nothing,” Rose says. “Hey, can we stop by an electronic store after we’re done with shopping? There’s something I need to pick up.”

Annie nods, and shortly after directs Rose to a home store in the mall. After a quick debate, in which Annie’s gunning for the color blue but Rose resists (her own kitchen is blue back home, she doesn’t need that reminder staring at her every time she’s at the flat), they finally decide on green and Annie takes off, leaving Rose to slowly browse the various comforters, her mood worsening with every rejected option.

Clothes shopping had been fine. She and her Annie had done it several times, so if Rose concentrated enough she could pretend that it was just any other day and that she would get a snarky text from Malcolm about not buying out the entire store. But now, trying to pick out linens and pillows for a place that she would have to face alone, in a Universe she never wanted…

She turns away from the racks, pressing the heel of her hands into her eyes, forcing herself to calm down. There’s no use in panicking. Trying to deny the existence around her is useless, since she has to face it no matter what. And it doesn’t matter what she picks out because she’ll be leaving soon anyway; just so long as it isn’t navy and white, she’ll be fine.

She has to be fine.

Rose grabs one at random, ending up with a pale lavender with large dark purple flowers stitched into it. Two pairs of sheets, purple and white, were also tossed into the basket, along with a few pillows with purple and blue flowers on a white background. A simple light blue cover is found for the sofa, along with dark blue throw pillows. 

The only thing she purchases out of selfishness is a framed painting of a courtyard, one that looks similar to her and Malcolm's spot at the mansion; the wall is too tall and is covered in ivy, but the pathway and flowers are nearly identical and she has to fight a wave of tears. But she can’t put it down once she picks it up and decides that it will have a place of honor above the old brass headboard of her bed.

“How’s it going?” Annie asks after Rose finds her in the kitchen section. 

Rose shrugs, gesturing at the basket. “Pretty good. I have the basics, at least.”

“Good.” Annie holds up two frying pans. “Which one?”

“That one,” Rose says, gesturing at the cheapest. “Trust me, it doesn’t matter. I don’t cook often, and when I do, I usually fail.”

Annie shrugs and adds it to her own miniature pile. “Doesn’t hurt. Never know when you want to cook, for yourself or others.” Before Rose can decipher that, Annie points at a few decorative bowls. “I was thinking about one of those, too, but you don’t have to get them.”

“No, they’ll be a good fruit bowl,” Rose replies, picking one up decorated with various colored circles. “Is this it?”

Annie considers, looking through her selections. “Think so. Utensils, pots and pans, measuring cups, a few knives, tupperware and bathroom towels.”

“And a fruit bowl,” Rose smiles, and they head to the front to pay.

They go to the electronic store after once again dropping off their purchases, Rose heading immediately to the computers. She needs to be able to search for her mother in her spare time, since the one at work is monitored and she can’t do it as well from her generic pre-paid phone that she had bought for the sake of contact information. 

“I need a laptop,” Rose says once she’s approached by one of the salespeople. “It doesn’t have to be very high quality, but internet is spotty in my flat, if that helps.”

She’s shown a few options before she finally settles on a plain black one, not the greatest quality or even a brand she recognizes, but it’s capable of connecting to the internet and running a few programs she knows that Tucker would require her to use, so she purchases it quickly along with the basic software program and a television which will be delivered in a few days and goes to find Annie, who’s browsing the movies.

“What do you think, _That Day in July_ or _Remember When_?” Annie asks, holding up two movies.

“The first,” Rose replies. “You and I saw _Remember When_ last year and we hated it.”

“I’ll trust your judgement,” Annie says, and puts it back. She spies the computer and smiles. “Going to keep looking, then?”

Rose nods. “I’ll find her somehow.”

Annie buys the movie and they finally head back to Rose’s flat, only taking a moment to put the cover on the couch before collapsing on it. “That was more tiring than I thought it would be,” Annie announces, yawning.

“Long day,” Rose agrees softly, trying to ignore the creeping fear that always overcomes her when she’s alone nowadays. “But a productive one.”

“Yeah,” Annie agrees, then gets to her feet with a groan. “I’d best get going if I’m going to beat the worst of the traffic. You’ll be okay?”

Rose nods, busying herself with unpacking so she doesn’t have to look Annie in the eye. “‘Course I will. Be safe.”

Annie leaves after saying her goodbyes, and Rose stops what she’s doing, taking a moment to focus on her breathing before finally picking up the box that contains her laptop. Moving to the kitchen table, she sets about setting the computer up, checking her emails first, not surprised to see that Tucker had emailed her a few times despite her telling him that she had to take the day to move into her new place. She replies to each of them, wincing when he replies shortly after with a reminder to be more punctual.

She sets up her small flat after calling for takeaway, making the bed and putting away most of the kitchen things when her dinner arrives. She continues searching for her mum before deciding that it’s useless.

Chewing on her bottom lip, she hesitates before typing in the URL for Torchwood. She relaxes when it pulls up the generic business page, then clicks on the appropriate icon, looking at the log in prompt for a second before exiting the page. Her account wouldn’t work, anyway, and there’s no guarantee that Jackie would even be in their records. It’s a last-case scenario, she decides, and finishes her meal before finishing up with the decorations.

Her phone rings right after she exits the shower. “Oh, glad to fucking know I can get in touch with you now,” Tucker says as soon as she answers.

Rose ignores him. “Can I help you?”

“I need you back at the office. Some cockstain decided that the laws don’t apply to him so I need to find a loophole to exploit.”

“Yes sir,” she replies, moving to her wardrobe. “I’ll be there in a half hour.”

“I need you now!” he complains.

“Well,” she says, smiling, “I could leave now, but that would require me showing up naked, and that would send the entirely wrong message. Sir.”

There’s a long pause before Tucker finally snaps, “Well fucking hurry up then,” and hangs up on her. Smiling victoriously, and ignoring the pain that was generated when she had momentarily forgotten he wasn’t her husband, Rose pulls on one of her new outfits and hurries out the door.

Oh, well. Maybe if she is lucky Tucker will keep her busy enough that she won’t dream when she finally gets back to the flat. And even time spent in his company is better than time spent alone.


	15. Desperate Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm decides to take matters into his own hands and deal with things his way.

Malcolm drops the report he’s trying to read onto his desk; the words aren’t making any sense. He rubs his eyes under his glasses wearily just before a pair of small, soft hands glide over his shoulders to meet across his chest. He drops his head back against the headrest as he lowers his hands, one stopping at his chest to squeeze hers.

“Come to bed,” Rose says softly, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“I need to get this done,” he tells her, gesturing at the reports and diagrams on his desk. “There’s got to be a way, something I’m missing.”

“It’ll be there in the morning,” she insists.

His thumb moves over her wrist lightly for a moment. “I can’t sleep without you,” he admits quietly.

His hand drops as she moves, dropping one hand to her side and trailing the other across his shoulders as she steps around his chair. She looks as breathtaking as ever, blonde hair hanging in waves of silk just past her shoulders, wearing a sheer robe over a silk nightgown. She leans down, kissing him gently, then moves past his face, and he can feel her lips against his ear as she whispers to him.

_“Then find me.”_

Malcolm jerks awake with a gasp, still sitting at the dining room table, files and notebooks surrounding him. Shadow lifts his head with a clink of collar tags by his feet, sitting up as Malcolm takes a few slow, deep breaths, and shakes his head a little to clear it. He looks down at the dog after a moment, scratching his ear briefly.

“Come on,” he says, rising shakily and heading for the door. “We need a walk.”

He clicks the leash onto Shadow’s collar just before opening the door, briefly wondering not for the first time how exactly the dog had managed to stay for more than one night. Annie had stopped at a pet store the day after he’d let the dog in and left what she’d called a “starter kit” before leaving again to pick up the kids. Then she’d brought them over and it had all been over. Suddenly the dog had a name and a collar and a bed by the fireplace and he’d been completely powerless to stop it.

That said...after Annie and the kids left, he wasn’t entirely unhappy about the company, even if it was just of the furry, four-legged variety.

The dream is still hanging over him like a depressing fog as he and Shadow start around the block. It’s been over two weeks since they’d found out what happened to Rose, three since she disappeared. He hasn’t brought up the cannon again, but he’s getting more desperate as time goes by.

The Vitex party had been a disaster, although probably not in a way that any of the guests would notice. But trying to get through the night without Rose, and without their usual break in the back garden behind the kitchen, had been nothing short of torture for Malcolm. He’d nearly decked Jamie when he’d made a sneering comment about how Malcolm had lost his newest wife already, asking if he was going for a new record. Jackie had stepped in then, telling Jamie that if he was going to talk about her daughter that way, he could do so elsewhere, and not in her bloody house. He’d smirked and walked away with an apology that was nowhere near sincere, and Jackie had pulled Malcolm away to a deserted hall to ask if he was alright. He assured her he was fine, and managed to get through the night in a fairly even temper, and if he was a bit colder than usual, well, people were used to that from him.

He pats his pockets as they turn a corner, pulling out the pack of cigarettes he’d bought a few days ago. He’d needed something to get through the fundraiser, though he’d avoided their spot for his smoke breaks. It just...felt wrong. There’s only a few left now as he shakes one out of the pack, pausing to turn away from the wind and light it.

Shadow’s watching him when he turns back, inhaling deeply, and he cocks an eyebrow at the dog. “Don’t you dare fucking judge me. You drink out of the fucking toilet.”

Shadow whines a little, but turns away, and they continue down the pavement. He’s not entirely sure how he’s going to explain the new pet to Rose if she gets back, but after all the pestering, she’d probably be thrilled--

It takes a second for him to hear the word “if” in his own thoughts, and it stops him cold. His eyes unfocus and he drops the cigarette, crouching down as his chest gets tight, like there’s a band around his lungs keeping them from inflating properly. Shadow whines again, hurrying back to him and pressing his cold nose against Malcolm’s cheek. It helps, in a weird way; it anchors him to reality, and he reaches up a hand to scratch the dog’s ear as the worst of the panic passes.

Not if.

Never if.

_Find me._

He stands back up, continuing down the pavement with new energy, jiggling his leg anxiously when he has to stop for Shadow to sniff around and do his business. He returns to the house as soon as possible, dropping the dog off and grabbing his keys. He drives to Torchwood, his mind whirring. The longer they wait for something else, the more likely it is that something will happen to Rose, wherever she is. And he’s done waiting.

He just needs some help.

He finds Mickey in the locker room off the gym, thankfully alone. The younger man jumps, inexplicably covering his chest with his shirt, when Malcolm growls his name. He straightens quickly when Malcolm raises his eyebrows, dropping his shirt to his side and leaning on his open locker with belated nonchalance.

“What...uh...what can I do for you, Tucker?”

“You care about Rose,” Malcolm tells him without preamble. “You’ve been friends a long time, longer than either of you have even been in this universe, and there’s not a lot you wouldn’t do for her. Right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Mickey replies with a frown.

“Then help me convince Pete to okay the cannon,” he says. He makes a frustrated sound when Mickey immediately starts shaking his head. “Come on, Mickey! It’s been over two weeks since you found out about the Nyladi and there hasn’t even been another viable suggestion! She’s in another universe; the cannon sends people to other universes.”

“The cannon also blew up,” Mickey points out. “It nearly killed you and Rose.”

“But it didn’t!” Malcolm retorts. “In fact, it’s the reason she’s not going to be alone for a few centuries after everyone else in her family, including you, are dead and gone. But only if we get her _back._

Mickey looks at him uncertainly for a moment, then shakes his head and pulls on his shirt, turning toward his locker. Malcolm scrubs a hand down his face, trying to work out the best place to apply pressure. There’s always one spot that’ll get someone to do practically anything, and Malcolm can always find it. 

“Did you ever consider,” Mickey says slowly after a moment, “that maybe she’s...happy, wherever she is?” Malcolm stills, his hand still over his mouth as he stares at Mickey. “Another universe...maybe she finally got home. Maybe she’s with the Doctor.” 

Right. Always a spot. Because Malcolm knows that Rose still wonders what if--but it’s not in any sort of active way. It’s the same way he wondered for years what would have happened if Annie hadn’t caught Rebecca cheating, or if he’d taken Julius’ offer and returned to politics instead of working for Pete. He knows his wife, and he knows that she’d been happy--here, with him--before she got flung across dimensions...again. And there is no fucking way he’s going to let some self-important little pup convince him otherwise. 

Malcolm narrows his eyes, resting his hands on his hips. “Right. Well, suppose that’s that then. So long as you can sleep at night knowing that the woman who’s saved your life--oh, christ, I don’t even know how many times now--so long as she _might_ not actively be suffering too fucking greatly, or at least not so that you can fucking see, then it’s all fucking rainbows and kittens, yes?” He pauses, shaking his head. “Fuck, I wish I could be so fucking flippant about someone I’ve known my whole life. Cheers.”  
“That’s not fair,” Mickey says as Malcolm turns away. 

“No, you know what’s not fucking _fair_?” Malcolm asks, spinning back to him. “Not fucking fair is losing my wife because someone didn’t do their homework, and then being told by everyone that the best fucking shot I’ve got at getting her back isn’t gonna happen, because no one wants to fucking risk anything for the woman who’s fucking saved every single one of you more than once. Who the fuck were you before you came here, Mickey? Who would you be if it wasn’t for her?” 

Mickey watches him for a minute, lips tight as a muscle twitches in his jaw. “The tin dog.” 

“I have no fucking idea what that means,” Malcolm says, “but I’m going to assume that it’s not good. So are you going to fucking help me, or not?” 

He looks away, clearly torn, then sighs heavily. “Yeah, alright, fine. But I’m doing this for Rose, not you. And we’re gonna need someone else.” 

oOoOo 

They make their way to R &D, ignoring three scientists who try to ask what they're doing there as they make a beeline for the office of one Doctor Taylor. He stands up at his desk as they enter, pushing up his glasses nervously. 

"Ah, Mister Tucker! My name buddy!" Malcolm gives him a blank look as he sinks into a chair in front of Taylor's desk. "Because we're both named Malcolm. No? Nevermind." He eases back into his desk chair as Mickey starts wandering around the room, inspecting the various gadgets and gizmos. "What can I help you gentlemen with?" 

“Actually, we were hoping we could help you with something,” Malcolm tells him, placing his elbows on the armrests of the chair and steepling his fingers in front of him. 

“Oh, really?” Taylor asks, pushing up his glasses again. “What’s that?” 

“We want to help you with a project,” Malcolm says. 

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Taylor cries happily before Malcolm can say anything else, and Mickey raises his eyebrows behind Malcolm’s back. “Honestly, that’s so good to hear, because you’re so very unique, Mister Tucker. I’ve been asking Director Tyler to allow me to bring you and your wife in--” 

“Let’s...maybe put a pin in that,” Malcolm says slowly. “I was more hoping we could possibly help you...restart a project that’s been abandoned?” 

“Oh?” Taylor asks. “Well, there’s several of those...there’s the renewable energy via genetically engineered hamsters, the planetary defensive shield--” 

“That’s the one that lopped off a chunk of the satellite, wasn’t it?” Mickey asks, looking up from a sort of gyroscope on a shelf. 

“Ah, yes, well,” Taylor says, shuffling papers around on his desk. “It was...still in the experimental phase.” 

“Yeah, Pete wasn’t happy about that,” Mickey replies. “Though, between you and me, I think that’s just ‘cause he thought he was gonna finally beat my score in Candy Crush when his phone conked out on him.” 

“Anyway,” Malcolm cuts in, cutting an impatient look at Mickey. “I had a more...specific project in mind. The dimension cannon.” 

“Oh,” Taylor says, his expression drooping as his eyes lower to his desk. “I...well, I don’t know that I can help you there. Director Tyler was very specific--” 

“Hey hey hey,” Malcolm says quickly, sitting up straighter and lowering his hands. “All Director Tyler needs is some persuasion. I read your report, Doctor, on the practical applications of the cannon. It’s obvious we’re really missing out on a critical piece of technology, and weakening ourselves by not exploring all the possibilities.” 

“That’s just what I said!” Taylor shouts excitedly. “Honestly, the dimensional capabilities are just one aspect of the potential of the cannon. What with the teleporting and matter transfiguration--” 

“And I’m sure, given time, you could work out a way to ensure that it’s safe,” Malcolm adds, deciding quickly that he doesn’t want to know what the fuck “matter transfiguration” might entail. 

“Yes, of course,” Taylor says, hopping up, but then sighs, and Malcolm cracks his knuckles as he tries not to show his frustration. So close. “But I’ve already said all this to the Director.” 

“But then you didn’t have anyone backing you up,” Malcolm points out. “And, given the situation with the Director’s daughter--” 

“Yes, of course!” Taylor shouts, realization hitting him, and Malcolm almost smiles. “This would be a prime opportunity to approach the Director--the cannon would be invaluable in the recovery of Mrs. Tucker. In fact, I’m certain that the matrix utilizing the key to locate the Doctor and his universe could be modified to find Rose as well. And we already have the blueprints on file, it would take no time at all to rebuild it, leaving us time to focus on the safety issues of the energy exchange.” 

“Brilliant argument,” Malcolm says as he gets to his feet. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble convincing the Director--” 

“Yes, of course it is,” Taylor says quickly. “I’ll go speak to the Director right now. And you two should come with me; after all, he can hardly say no if the person nearly killed by the...er...mishap is on board with it, and Agent Smith was on the team during the original construction. I’ll have backed him into a corner he can’t possibly get out of.” 

“Well, of course, we’d be willing to help in any way possible,” Malcolm assures him. 

“Well, then, what are you standing around here for?” Taylor demands. “We’ve got a man to see about a cannon!” 

“After you,” Malcolm says, gesturing at the door. “After all, this is all your genius plan.” 

“Yes, yes it is,” Taylor says with a grin, hurrying out the door. 

Malcolm lets out a slow breath before looking at Mickey. The younger man is staring at him and shaking his head. 

“You just convinced that man this was all his idea,” Mickey says. 

Malcolm shrugs. “Best way to get at Pete. If either of us try, then we’re not thinking rationally. I’m not entirely sure that Taylor has an irrational mode.” 

“‘Least not like the rest of us,” Mickey agrees. “You’re good.” 

“You’re fucking right I am,” Malcolm says, walking out the door. “Now we just have to hope I’m good enough to keep it from blowing up in our fucking faces.” 

oOoOo 

“And you’re sure this is all your idea,” Pete says slowly, turning another page in the file in front of him. 

“Yes, of course,” Taylor says. Pete looks past him to where Malcolm and Mickey are hovering just behind the little scientist, and Taylor glances back briefly, pushing his glasses up as he turns back to the Director. “They’re just here in a support capacity, as interested parties.” 

“Who in no way persuaded you to take on this project,” Pete adds doubtfully. 

“No, of course not,” Taylor denies quickly, and Malcolm holds Pete’s gaze without flinching. “Mister Tucker may have...brought the current possibilities to my attention, but I assure you, that’s the extent of it.” 

“I can hardly argue with that,” Pete mutters, finally looking back at the scientist with a sigh. “Fine, I’ll approve it--but no one uses it until we’re certain that it’s safe, understood?” 

“Perfectly,” Taylor gushes, hurrying forward to shake Pete’s hand vigorously. “You have no idea what this means to me, Director.” 

“I think I have a glimmer of understanding,” Pete says mildly. “It is my daughter you’re looking for.” 

“Yes, of course,” Taylor replies. “I’ll assemble a team right away. I assume, Agent Smith, that you’ll want to be on it once more?” 

“Yeah, absolutely,” Mickey says, glancing at Malcolm. “Anything I can do to help.” 

“Splendid,” Taylor says. “I’ll, of course, send you regular progress reports, Director Tyler. Good day.” 

All three men watch him scuttle away. Pete sighs expansively once he’s gone, and Mickey starts backing toward the door. 

“Right, I’ll just...see what the doc needs me to do,” Mickey says, exchanging a glance with Malcolm before shaking his head. “I can see why you hired this guy, Pete.” 

“Yeah,” Pete says quietly. “Me too.” 

Malcolm turns to Pete as Mickey leaves, and they stare each other down for a long moment before Pete sighs again and drops into his desk chair. 

“Jax is losing her mind,” he says quietly. “Going on and on about how nothing good comes from bloody Torchwood.” 

“She seemed pretty together at the Vitex party,” Malcolm comments with a shrug. 

“That’s because she was worried about _you_ ,” Pete explains, and Malcolm frowns. “So, feel better now?” 

“I didn’t--” He stops when Pete arches an eyebrow at him. “Yeah.” 

“That was a shitty way to go about it, Tucker,” Pete tells him. “I don’t appreciate being ambushed by my own employees.” 

“If you’d approved it two weeks ago, I wouldn’t have fucking had to,” Malcolm counters. “You said you’d find another way. You didn’t.” 

Pete gives him a hard look. “If it was anyone else--” 

“If it was anyone else, I wouldn’t give a shit,” Malcolm cuts in. “But I put pressure on you for the same reason you yielded to it. You just needed an excuse. I gave it to you.” 

“If anything goes wrong--” 

“If anything goes wrong, I’ll write my resignation myself,” Malcolm assures him. 

Because god knows that if he doesn’t get Rose back, he’s going to want to get as far from any reminder of her as fucking possible. But it’s not going to come to that. It can’t. 

_Find me._


	16. Partners In Crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose enlists Annie's help to hunt down information on her mother

Days pass like something out of stop motion.

Scene: She is at work answering emails and reading a request from Tucker to find a certain file.

Skip. She is making an emergency run to a men’s clothing store because someone spilt coffee down his shirt. She is nearly run over by a taxi.

Skip. Tucker is yelling at the man who spilt the coffee, now wearing a pale green oxford, as Rose attempts to get the stain out of his old one. 

Skip. She wakes up in the middle of the night thinking her husband’s arms are around her, only to remember where she is and that the feeling is only the lingering effects of the dream.

Skip. Rose is making a lunch run for a room full of politicians, some puffed-up intern trying to flirt with her, despite her repeated reminders that she’s taken. 

Skip. The intern tries cornering her in the hallway. She slaps him and he tells Tucker. 

Skip. Rose is told to keep an eye out and to take no shame in running away if she has to. The intern is nowhere to be seen.

Skip. She’s leaving the building after another long, exhausting day, getting no closer to finding her mum and feeling emotionally drained after dealing with Tucker and other politicians all day.

Her phone rings as she’s entering her flat--Annie. “Hey Rose!” her friend chirps. “Nate and Julie have a playdate on Thursday, so I was wondering if you wanted to have a girls’ night.”

Rose is about to agree when she pauses, an idea forming in her head. “Annie… do you have anything to do Friday?”

Annie considers for a second. “Not really. Why?”

Rose sits down at the kitchen table. “I… have an idea. It’s… crazy and probably illegal, but it may be the only way of finding my mum.”

“Illegal?” Annie asks, and sounds excited. “With a very slim chance of actually getting away with it?”

“Well… it’s more of a five percent chance that our break in will go unnoticed,” Rose replies.

“Count me in!” Annie says. “I love my kids, I really do, but I haven’t had that sort of fun since a group of friends and I broke into that barn in order to steal cow milk while I was still in Uni.”

Rose pauses. “You… stole milk?”

“We were stoned, it seemed like a good idea at the time,” Annie replies dismissively. “And besides, Malcolm bailed me out before any real damage could be done. So, where are we going to do these illegal, presumably nocturnal, break-in activities?”

Rose smiles. “A little place called Torchwood.”

oOoOoOo

Annie meets Rose down by the Thames riverbank, dressed in dark grey and her bright red hair pulled into a headscarf. “Which one is it?” she asks, excitedly, and Rose gestures at the tall steel building nearby. “Doesn’t look like a very super-secret alien warehouse,” Annie says, doubtfully.

“That’s because you only see the outside,” Rose shrugs. “There’s a whole ‘nother building underneath it, practically. Luckily I know how to navigate it, so the biggest challenge is finding what I need.”

“Information on your mum, right?” Annie asks.

“That, and just what sent me here,” Rose replies. “The Archives is probably my best bet. It’s rarely guarded, too, which helps.”

Annie bounces a little. “I wish I hadn’t quit gymnastics,” she says ruefully. “I used to do some pretty fantastic forward rolls back in the day.”

Rose smiles. “Well you’ll have plenty of practice, regardless. There’s a lot of corridors, especially the deeper you go.”

“Excellent.” Annie rubs her hands together. “When do we start?”

“Now.” She takes off. “Last one there is a rotten egg!”

“No fair!” Annie yells, and though she does her best to catch up, Rose beats her easily. They giggle for a while, waving at a security guard who wanders by and merely rolls his eyes as Annie pushes her a little for cheating.

“All clear now?” Annie asks quietly once the guard passes.

Rose nods and goes to the side door, primarily used by the kitchen staff to get in and out. She enters the keycode, sighing in relief when it blinks green and the door is opened.  


“Right, we don’t have far to the stairs,” Rose replies. “I know a lot of backways, so we shouldn’t run into anyone, especially at midnight, but in case we do…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, act the clueless Archives intern,” Annie replies. “Come on, let’s go already!”

Rose peers carefully into the corridor before hurrying down it, and Annie follows closely behind. When they finally reach the stairwell, Annie starts humming under her breath, and Rose smiles when she recognizes the _Mission Impossible_ theme song.

By the time they’re six flights down, Rose has joined in, and Annie tries sliding down the bannister. Rose has to catch her and they race down another two flights before Rose peeks out the door--Annie flings herself out of it and does a very impressive forward roll, bouncing up again with a hand pressed to her ear. “Operation: Operation is a go, Alpha Leader,” Annie replies, and Rose bites back a giggle as she hauls Annie up and heads towards Archives. 

Just as Rose had suspected, there’s no one at the desks, and Rose hesitates before entering Jake’s security code. For a second nothing happens, and then the doors finally slide open.

“Whoa,” Annie says, quietly, as the rows upon rows of storage are revealed. “How do you find your way around here?”

“Practice,” Rose shrugs. “The newer stuff is usually up front, and if it’s unidentified or uncatalogued it’s in a box. If it’s known and identified, it’s in one of those silver canisters. The stuff too large to box up are towards the back, the books and other literature are in the back right corner, and the bits and bobs that don’t serve any purpose and are benign but alien are in the back left.”

“So where are we heading?” Annie asks as she looks up at a large, swirly green… something hanging from the ceiling.

Rose looks up too and makes a face. “Ugh. Why they insist upon hanging a toilet up there I’ll never know. There’s a computer terminal over here; it’ll be my best bet on finding Mum. Don’t touch anything!” she adds as Annie reaches for a batch of alien fireworks.

The redhead shrugs and plops down, reaching into the pocket of her cargo pants and retrieving the book she had grabbed beforehand. Rose steps up to the computer terminal, chewing on her thumbnail for a second before pulling up the login screen.

She types in Jake’s information, frowning when the wrong password alert comes up. She thinks for a second--she had heard him mention before that he rotates between three. The second option is his birthday--she uses it, and grins when it loads up the database.

“Jeez, even the computer is a maze,” Annie says as she watches Rose navigate through the site. “You know where to look, right?”

“Hopefully,” Rose admits. “Jake is terrible at keeping his files consistent. I would do a search, but those are automatically logged.”

“Aren’t the log-ins?” Annie asks.

“Yes, but it doesn’t give a specific location,” Rose says. “Anyone who happens to look will assume he’s at home or in the field. As soon as I do a search, though, it logs where it came from, what the search was, and who did it.”

Annie frowns a little. “I can see what you mean by the inconsistency,” she says when Rose opens a file labelled ‘field recipes’ and finds weaponry along with various wild plants that provide nutrients. “How does he live like this?”

“Stressfully?” Rose shrugs. “Let’s see. ‘Movement’ or ‘To Watch?’”

“To Watch,” Annie suggests, and movie files are revealed. “Should have guessed,” she sighs as Rose shakes her head and goes back. “Hey, wait a second--was that the newest _Guardians of the Galaxy_ movie?” Annie demands. “That isn’t even out in theaters yet!”

“No, you can’t watch it,” Rose replies. She continues when Annie opens her mouth. “No, I won’t download it for Nate, either.”

“Spoilsport,” Annie sighs. “Do you really think you’ll find references to your mum in there though?”

“Probably not,” Rose sighs. “I really didn’t want to do this, but I’ll have to access the Torchwood database proper.”

Annie watches as Rose navigates to the home screen and clicks on a different icon. Rose quickly flicks through the files, her frown deepening the further she has to dig.

“It’s nearly two in the morning,” Annie says softly as Rose lets out a frustrated sound. “Do you think you can find her?”

Rose nods. “I have to. Despite Da… Pete’s ignorance, Torchwood probably won’t just let someone who knows about Torchwood go like that. They have records.” She chews on her lip. “I’m just having trouble finding them.”

Annie considers for a second. “What about personnel documents?”

“What?”

Her friend shrugs. “Think about it. Large shadow company like this, there’s bound to be hundreds of people working here. It’ll be easier to create a false name and claim her as a past employee or something.”

Rose stares at her, then sweeps her up in a hug. “Annie, you’re a genius!” she exclaims. “Let’s try it.”

It’s easy to access the personnel files through Jake’s account, and Rose is able to run a simple search with the date of Jackie’s disappearance. Seconds later the program finishes, and Rose clicks through the three options before opening up a file with her mum’s photo being revealed.

“Yes!” Rose exclaims, and quickly grabs a nearby pen and paper pad. “She’s going by… Anita Harris, lives in Oxford.” She scribbles the address and phone number down, then quickly logs out of the system altogether.

Annie frowned. “Hold up, didn’t you need to find the alien?”

“That’ll be better in the library,” Rose replies. “That way the search isn’t logged.”

She leads Annie to the back corner where the books and files are kept, and Rose dives in as Annie pokes at a few of them. Rose eventually hands her a manuscript from Yrteop about a rom com, and Annie reads it with a fascinated expression as Rose digs around in a few boxes.

Eventually she finds the solar system she’s looking for and flips through the pages. There’s a lot about the Neila’s--they’re notorious travellers, though it’s unclear how, exactly, they travel. There’s no sort of radiation that Torchwood knows about and can test for, and Rose examines the few charts, none of them making sense to her. 

Finally, towards the end, there’s a few pages about the Nyladi, which are from a sister planet. She freezes as she reads the passage, and she’s not even sure she’s breathing.

_If cornered, they will attack; preliminary field readings indicate that victims of Nyladi attacks are transported to a completely alternate dimension. However, as no one has yet been recovered, it is difficult to determine exactly what this entails, whether victims find themselves in an alternate reality or simply the Void._

Well. She had expected it, but that doesn’t make the reality any easier to bare.

“Are you okay?” Annie asks, snapping Rose out of her thoughts. 

She swallows and nods. “Yeah. I just…” she looks down at the passage. “I was hoping that there would be a way back.”

Annie is quiet as she reads the passage and squeezes Rose’s shoulder. “Well it may not say it, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one,” she says. “You got here somehow. That means you can get back.”

“Yeah,” Rose says quietly, then shakes herself. She takes photos of the pages with her phone, then carefully puts everything back in order. “Okay. What time is it?”

“Three,” Annie replies. 

Rose groans. “I have to be at the office by seven. Tucker is going to murder me.”

“Nah, he knows you’re too good a PA,” Annie says reassuringly. “C’mon. I’ll race you to the door!”

“Annie!” Rose shouts. “Wait, you might get lost!”

“Who’s the rotten egg now?” Annie laughs, and Rose races after her.


	17. Thin Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm finds out what it's like to encounter his PA in a bad mood.

"Morning," Malcolm greets Rose, taking the coffee she’s holding out to him as they walk up to the building.  He glances at her, then does a double take when he sees the circles under her eyes, darker than he’s seen them yet in the weeks the woman’s been working for him.  Ordinarily he wouldn’t comment, but her face looks drawn and her shoulders are drooping a little, and he narrows his eyes.  "Late night?"

"Yeah, well, you know how it goes," she says, running a hand through her hair.  "You plan for a little light B and E and information theft, and the time just gets away from you."

"It’s a common problem," he replies, lips twitching. "The trials of youth."

"It’s quite a burden," she claims as they approach his office.

"Clearly."  He eyes her a moment when she stops at her desk, then shakes his head.  "Word of advice, keep the petty crime to the weekends."

She snorts at that, a teasing smile appearing.  ”I would, only my boss doesn’t really believe in them. Calls me all the time to draft this or email that.”

"What a prick," he tuts, shaking his head as he glances through the messages she hands him.  "How the fuck does he get away with that?"

"Simple," she says, shrugging when he looks up at her. "He’s hot."

Malcolm’s eyebrows jump as he stares at her, trying to come up with a pithy response and utterly falling.  For the first time in his existence, he’s actually happy when Nicola approaches.

"Ah, Malcolm, I’m glad you’re here," she says.  "I wanted to discuss how we’re going to respond to that school closure policy."

"By telling them what a useless piece of fucking trash it is," he replies, glancing back at Rose to find her busying herself at her desk. He shakes his head a little to clear it. "They know it’s trash, it’ll be thrown out by morning, at which point we’ll be telling everyone who will listen that they haven’t even got any fucking confidence in their own policies."

"Sometimes the best action is inaction," Nicola says sagely as she follows him into his office.

"Don’t throw fucking cliches at me," he retorts.  "Save that for the voters and journalists. They eat that shit up.  Me, I’m just happy when the opposition set themselves on fire—saves me the effort of throwing the match.  I’ve got enough other things to do.  Like this whole Tickel issue, for instance."

"No, I told you, I’m not going into that," she protests, waving her arms defensively.

"And I’m telling you it’s the fucking golden egg of opposition cock ups," he argues.

"It’s a man’s life!"

"It’s a man who’s getting fucked sideways by your opposition," he reminds her.  "A mentally unstable man at that."

"And that means I should use him as a pawn in some sort of… Political turf war?"

"Yes!" he snaps.  "That’s exactly what you should do.  I didn’t put him in that position."

"No, you’re just the one who wants to exploit it."

"Someone ought to get something out of it," he replies with a shrug.  "Might as well be us."

"Have you got any compassion in that…shriveled fucking heart of yours?" Nicola demands with a tone of distaste.

"Compassion isn’t in my job description," he retorts. "I’ll leave that to you, you can be compassionate as you like after you sign your fucking resignation!"

"Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?"  She sighs, shaking her head.  "Believe it or not, it is actually possible to win and retain a shred of humanity."

"Who sold you that fucking line?"

"It’s not—"  Her phone chirps, interrupting her.  She glances down at it with an irritated noise.  "Nevermind.  It seems I’m needed elsewhere at the moment."

"Careful, a shock like that might kill me," he drawls, ignoring the withering glance she throws over her shoulder at him as he turns to the paperwork on his desk.

oOoOo

Something that becomes immediately apparent to Malcolm about his new PA: she does not function well on so little sleep.  She’s grouchy and impatient, and it’s sort of adorable in a menacing kind of way, like a wolf pup.  He spends his morning more or less allowing her to be his attack dog, cutting down nearly everyone who comes to see him.  The sight of Ben Swain’s neurotic blinking after Rose calls him a pompous political prick is really its own reward.  

Just before lunch, he returns to his office after a quick word with Dan Miller to find Ollie leaning on Rose’s desk while she appears to be working on the computer and trying to ignore him.  He smiles a little when he sees the solitaire game on her screen.

“What’s one little lunch?” Ollie is asking.  “It couldn’t hurt.  I promise you, despite appearances, I am wildly attractive.”

“At least you think so,” Rose replies in a bored tone.  “It’s good to have a high self-esteem.”

“Anything you like,” Ollie continues unperturbed, and Malcolm shakes his head, leaning against the wall.  “Italian, Indian, Thai?”

“I told you, Ollie,” Rose says, finally looking up at him.  “Seeing someone.  And even if I wasn’t, it wouldn’t be you.  So please, just find someone else to stalk and stop wasting both our time.”

Malcolm narrows his eyes, pushing off the wall and stepping closer to test a theory.  “Rose, I was thinking of ordering Chinese in for lunch.  Care to join me?”

“Only if you’re paying this time,” she says, and the corner of his mouth lifts up in a crooked grin at the appearance of her tongue-touched smile.

“I think that could be arranged,” he replies before turning to Ollie who’s looking completely stunned.  “Something you needed?”

As the day wears on, Rose only seems to become more exhausted and detached. She still does her job, and well, but everything’s a bit more mechanical, and she’s more prone to glassy-eyed staring into space.  At one point, he steps out of his office to find her staring at a spot on the wall across from her desk and toying with the charm on her necklace absently.

“Something of interest?” he asks, leaning down by her ear, and she jumps so high he’s got to step back to avoid being smacked in the chin by her shoulder.

“Sorry, no,” she says quickly, tucking the necklace back into her shirt. She clears her throat, giving him a shifty glance, and he tilts his head in confusion.  “Uh…just…you know…late night and all that.  Sorry.”

“Right,” he says slowly.  “Well, Friday or not, you still need to be on point, not staring at the fucking wall, especially if someone comes by, understand?  All I need is for someone to think my PA is fucking stoned.”

Her lips twitch a little.  “Right, yeah. Wouldn’t want that.  I’ll just…go get some coffee.  You want some?”

“Is that even a real fucking question?”

oOoOo

Malcolm had already resigned himself to the fact that it was going to be a long night by four thirty in the afternoon.  At six, he’s still got a stack of paperwork to go through, four radio interviews to listen to, and a list of about fifteen people he wants to bury in a very uncomfortable pit somewhere.  What he  _hasn’t_ got is the memo he told Rose to draft an hour ago.

“Rose?” he shouts from his desk, hands on his hips.  “Rose!”

“Need something, Mister Tucker?” she asks, popping her head in the door.

“Yes, I—why’ve you got your bag?” he asks, zeroing in on the bag over her shoulder.

“Because it’s six o’clock,” Rose explains slowly, as if she’s talking to a fucking toddler.  “I’m going  _home_.”

“Not without drafting the fucking memo to Miller, you’re not,” he snaps. “We’ve still got a lot of work to do—”

“ _You_ have a lot of work to do,” she repeats, pointing at his desk, then turning her finger on herself.  “ _I_ have to go home, and go to bed.  You don’t need me for all of this.”

His eyebrows jump as he stares at her in disbelief.  “You’re my PA, you’re around when I need you to be.”

“I know how much you’d like to believe that’s true,” Rose says.  “But I actually have a whole other life that definitely does  _not_ involve being your PA, dealing with your idiots, listening to Ben Swain be all pompous at me, or pulling memos that you never asked for out of thin air.”

“You can cut the fucking attitude right fucking now,” he snaps. “I sent you an email about it an hour ago.”

“No, you didn’t,” she retorts.  “‘Cause if you  _had_  it’d be on your desk.  So you’ll excuse me if I get a little annoyed at being kept at work because my boss decides to project his incompetence onto me.”

“Excuse me?”  He stares at her, stunned.  “I’m getting old, I must be, because there is no fucking way on god’s green fucking earth that you just called  _me_ incompetent.”

“Senility is a terrible thing,” she says coolly.

“You’d better watch yourself, darling,” he warns with a subzero tone. “You’re on very thin ice.”

“Am I?” she asks, tilting her head.  “‘Cause I’m pretty sure that I’m the best PA you’re going to get out of the pool ‘til Sam gets back, and I’m pretty sure you know it.  Now, if you could just stop being a miserable wretch for two bloody minutes and, dunno,  _ask_ me to draft the memo that  _you_ forgot to tell me about, maybe we could both end this conversation on a happier note.”

“Maybe if you were more studious about checking your fucking emails—”

“Oh my god,” she says, rolling her eyes before stepping into the room and around his desk to get to his computer.  She brings up his email quickly and finds the one he wrote—in his drafts.  “Might help if you actually, dunno,  _send_ the email.”

“It…might,” he admits reluctantly, then draws a hand down his face. He regards her unhappily for a moment, then sighs and says, “Rose, would you be willing to perhaps draft a memo for Dan Miller about a couple of policies that might be of interest to him?”

“I’d be happy to,” she says with a grin.  “I’ll do it when I get home and email it to you.  I might even send it.”

“Can’t you do it now?” he complains as she moves away from him.

“Nope,” she replies easily.  “Beggars can’t be choosers.  Night, Mister Tucker.”

He stares after her, torn between annoyance and intrigue.  It’s not often someone calls him to task, and practically unheard of for anyone to do it with anything other than fearful apology. Rose seemed to have no qualms about it whatsoever.  It was irritating to be so thoroughly outmaneuvered by a fucking PA…but when she’d been standing close he’d had the insane desire to push her against the desk and find out if her mouth tasted as good as it looked.

What’s worse…given the inexplicable flirting that’s been thrown in his direction, he’s not entirely sure she’d be against that course of action. Which makes zero fucking sense, given their relative age and position, but even that doesn’t stop him from considering several…other positions she might enjoy.

With a slightly strangled noise, he shoves whatever he can into his briefcase—he can always come back for more in the morning if he really needs to, but he needs to get out of his office, right now.  He lights a cigarette as he gets outside, inhaling deeply and shaking off the strange urges surrounding Rose.  He narrows his eyes as an idea occurs to him—maybe there’s a better way to work off the excess energy and still get off.

He pulls out his phone and texts Angela.

- _Where are you?_

 _-Nice to hear from you_.   _At my flat._

_-I’ll be there in ten minutes._

_-The great Malcolm Tucker once again descending to the masses?_

_-The mattress, at least._

_-See you in ten._


	18. Blackpool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackie and Rose have a heart-to-heart

With the weekend now here, Rose’s next two days are blessedly free. There were no major events planned, and she could still send out emails per Tucker’s request.. Ever since she and Annie’s…. excursion two days ago, Rose had been itching to go find her mum. And when she had finally called the number last night and heard her mum’s voice answer… she had nearly started crying, but had managed to stammer an apology and hang up.

She had cleared the two days with Tucker ahead of time, although he was a little suspicious about her true intent. “You aren’t trying to fucking skip town, are you?” he asked when she told him she was actually going to have a weekend off for once. “I already have my regular PA doing God knows fucking what.”

“You can reach me by email,” Rose reminded him. “I’m just visiting my mum, I’m not dropping off the face of the planet.” Even though she would, one day; hopefully soon. “I just… haven’t seen her in a few months.”

He stared at her for a second, then let out a sigh. “Fine. Just be back here on Monday, got it?”

“What, and miss out on your sparkling personality?” she asked over her shoulder as she returned to her desk.

She had woken up early, having gone to bed almost immediately after she had left the office the day before. Wearing her only pair of jeans and a plain white t-shirt, Rose grabs the overnight bag she had packed just in case. Clutching the paper with Jackie’s address like a lifeline, she gets a cab to the train station and buys a ticket to Blackpool.

Rose had brought a book to read on the way, but she can’t focus on it, worrying about her mum. Is Jackie happy? Had she found a way to support herself? How is she faring on her own?

There’s also a quiet voice in the back of Rose’s mind that said that this world’s Jackie won’t want to see her; everyone else seems to be suffering from her absence, and she couldn’t see her mum like that, and she doesn’t know what she’ll do if Jackie turns her away. 

Rose swallows. She can’t think like that. No matter what had happened in this Universe, Jackie is still her Mum, and she’d do anything for her daughter.

It’s nearly eleven when Rose gets to Blackpool, and it’s another twenty minutes by cab until Rose is at the row of flats that house her mum. She glances at the door number on her paper, then takes the stairs, going to the fourth floor and going the wrong way before she realizes her mistake. Even when she does find Jackie’s door, Rose hesitates for another minute before she knocks.

“Who is it?” Jackie calls out, and Rose holds her breath. “I swear if it’s you kids from 310, I have your mum on speed dial, don’t think I won’t call--”

Jackie opens the door, and Rose gives a small, watery smile. “Hello, Mum,” she says, quietly.

“Rose!” Jackie exclaims, gripping the doorframe. “What… how are you…”

Rose chews on her bottom lip then gives a small smile. “Surprise?” she says, weakly.

Her mother shakes her head, taking a step back. “I’ve gone mad, haven’t I? Your Doctor said the walls were closed, that it was impossible to come back. You can’t _be here_.”

Helplessly, Rose hugs herself. “It’s… hard to explain. Me being here is an accident.”

“Oh, lord, please don’t tell me something else has happened,” Jackie groans. “Where’s the Doctor? The Cybermen haven’t returned, have they?” 

Rose lets out a small laugh, wiping at her eyes. “No… they haven’t… I’m fine, Mum. I’ve just… God, I’ve missed you,” she chokes out, and even though Jackie is still plainly confused, she immediately pulls Rose into a hug.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jackie says. “Oh, I’ve missed you too.”

Rose pulls her mother closer, shaking with tears. Eventually Jackie guides her inside, and Rose settles down on an unfamiliar couch. “Rose, what happened? Why are you here? Where’s the Doctor?” Jackie asks, then frowns. “Oooh. Don’t tell me he left you behind again. Where is he, I’ll--”

“No, Mum, it’s not the Doctor’s fault,” Rose chokes out, smiling despite herself. “I’m… I’m actually not travelling with him. Haven’t for… a very long time.”

Jackie looks concerned. “Sweetheart, what do you mean?”

Rose hesitates, then cuddles into her mother’s side. “You know there are infinite parallel universes, right?”

“Well, of course I do,” Jackie replies. “Don’t see how they matter, though.”

“But they do, Mum,” Rose replies, shakily. “They do. Because I’m from one of them. I was attacked by an alien during a Torchwood mission and ended up here.”

Jackie stiffens. “Attacked? Rose, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she says. “But I’m just… I’m _homesick_. Nothing about this universe is like mine and I just… I needed to see you.”

Jackie narrows her eyes. “What are you on about? And what do you mean, Torchwood? Those people have ruined our lives enough. What are you _doing_ here, Rose, and why are you with _them_?”

Rose starts from the beginning--of the cold, gripping desperation and sadness when she was first pulled across, the months of depression after the Doctor said goodbye. She talks about how Jackie and Pete got married and had a baby boy, and how Rose didn’t mind if he spit up on her favorite shirt once, she loved him. About Torchwood and all her adventures, her house, and Malcolm.

Jackie instantly stiffens when Rose mentions him. “You’re what?” she demands, pulling away to look Rose in the eyes. “Rose, please tell me you aren’t in love with that man.”

“He’s different, Mum,” Rose tells her, her hand immediately moving to her necklace where she keeps her rings. “Trust me, I wouldn’t have believed it either, back when we first met, but it’s true. There’s all sort of things you haven’t seen, stuff we’ve been through together, what we had to overcome. My Malcolm isn’t like the one you know. You’re actually sorta friends, and he was coming to our family dinners long before we actually started dating.”

Jackie shakes her head. “Rose, sweetheart, there isn’t an ounce of compassion in that man’s body. His first and only priority is himself.”

Rose frowns. “That’s because you only know this world’s Malcolm. He’s _broken_ , Mum, not inhuman. I know what he’s like, deep down; he’s been through so much, and it took ages for me to break down those walls, for him to finally shed the armor. You see the man that Pete betrayed after he finally thought that he could be happy, forcing him to crawl back to a job that he despises and where no one takes the time to even _thank_ him or recognize his talent, because they’re so… selfish and pompous and are full of nothing but hot air. You know the Tucker who’s buried every inch of himself so that he doesn’t get hurt again. _I_ know the Malcolm who’s loyal to his family, who works himself to the point of exhaustion trying to protect others in the best way he can. I know the man who saw me when it seemed like the entire world had lost interest. You don’t know what he’s like, Mum, because you never even thought to actually get to know him, did you?”

“I didn’t want to!” Jackie exclaims. “He did nothing but insult me. Quite frankly, I was glad to be rid of him.”

“Really,” Rose says, and crosses her arms. “Let me guess. You didn’t really give him the benefit of the doubt, did you? Just assumed that he was what, an enemy? Even after he basically did everything for you, made it so that you didn’t have any trouble of sliding into the shoes of your counterpart?” Rose sighs, and runs her hand down her face in a habit that she picked up from her husband. “You didn’t like the Doctor at first, either,” she continues, quietly. “I saw who he was, beneath the attitude. Shouldn’t you trust me on this, too?”

“You really love him, don’t you?” Jackie asks.

Rose nods, blinking away another wave of tears. “More than I can even describe. And our anniversary is just under two months away, and I’m terrified that I won’t get back in time. I can’t access Torchwood and even if I happen to run into another Nyladi, it’d probably just send me to an even more different Universe, one that is probably worse than this one, somehow, and I’m terrified, Mum,” Rose sobs. “I’m terrified that I’ll never see you again, that I won’t see Dad or Tony or Annie or my husband. And it doesn’t help that I’m working for his counterpart and keep seeing these…. these traces of Malcolm in him, in every stupid smile and the way he hates it when bloody Ollie tries flirting with me and how he doesn’t mind having lunch with me even if I know he normally doesn’t waste time with eating. But he’s not my Malcolm, he’s so… he’s so lost, Mum, and broken. And the longer I stay here the more I have to remind myself that the life I was torn away from wasn’t a dream.”

“Oh, Rose,” Jackie says softly, and pulls Rose into her lap as she once again starts to cry.

After a while Rose calms down, and moves off her Mum’s lap. “I’m sorry,” she says, scrubbing her hands over her face.

“No, sweetheart, it’s alright,” Jackie says. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Rose gives her a small smile. “What happened, Mum? What happened to me after Canary Wharf?”

Jackie sighs. “You stayed with the Doctor. After he slid that… thing around your neck, you were angry. You turned to me and said that you loved me, but that you weren’t going to leave him alone, and that we shouldn’t come back for you. I tried going back, but Pete had removed the hopper from me and refused to get you. Said that you had made your choice, that you were old enough to do so. I… thought that he had killed you,” Jackie admits. “And even though I still love him, you’re still my daughter, Rose, someone he never had in his life. He didn’t understand that I was willing to risk… everything, to make sure you were okay. And despite trying to make it work, I couldn’t forgive him for not… going back, even just checking, to make sure you were okay.”

“But Mum, Pete said that I contacted you,” Rose replies. “You knew I was okay. Why didn’t you...” she falters.

“Just because he’s Pete, doesn’t mean he’s my Pete,” Jackie says. “Just like your husband and… Tucker.”

Rose bites her lip, chewing on it for a second. “Are you happy, Mum?” she asks.

“You’re the one who showed up on my doorstep crying, Rose,” Jackie reminds her. “I have a feeling you need me a bit more than I need you.”

“Well you’re my mum,” Rose replies. “I’ll always need you.”

Jackie changes the subject to their life back on the Estate, and they spend the next hour lost in nostalgia. It feels good reminiscing; for a moment Rose can just be Rose again, not Tucker’s PA, not a girl far from home, not a lonely woman who doesn’t know how she’s getting back to where she wants to be. 

Rose only leaves to go get lunch from a small deli that Jackie’s fond of, and after eating Jackie decides that she and Rose deserve some fun.

“After all,” Jackie declares as she moves to her room, “what’s the point of Blackpool if I never enjoy it?”

Using the cash she had withdrawn before her trip, Rose pays for their entrance into the theme park. They wander for a while before finding a darts game that Jackie swears she can beat. Rose leans against another booth, smiling fondly at her mother through several rounds--to Jackie’s obviously increasing frustration--until she finally manages to win a large teddy bear and insists upon carrying it with her the rest of the day. Spending the day with her mum does wonders in making Rose relax; by the end of the night they’re both laughing, and when they finally return to Jackie’s flat, their earlier fight is barely remembered.

“How long can you stay?” Jackie asks.

“Until tomorrow,” Rose replies. “I have to be back at work on Monday.”

Jackie nods. “Well then, we’d best make the most of it. And I’ll be calling you; now that I know you’re here, I’ll be making sure you’re okay.”

Rose smiles, the tight band around her heart that had existed ever since the Nyladi attacked her easing. “Just so long as I can return that favor,” Rose replies.


	19. Breathless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Rose's absence takes a greater toll on Malcolm, help comes from an unexpected source.

The house is dark, incredibly dark, despite the many windows that usually let in moonlight in even the blackest hours. It makes the already odd architecture nearly impossible to navigate, despite the years Malcolm has lived there. It almost seems to be twisting around him, corridors changing direction on him arbitrarily, so that no matter which way he turns he just seems to get further from the sound of Rose crying. He calls out to her desperately, opening random doors and sprinting around blind corners, but he can’t find her, he can never find her, just hear her crying--

The sound of his alarm rips Malcolm from the nightmare and he jerks awake, gasping and sweating. He sits up, reaching to the nightstand and turning off the alarm before glancing at Rose’s side of the bed automatically, his eyes sliding closed painfully at the persistent emptiness of it. The dream’s been happening more frequently; at least this time he didn’t actually reach for her. There’s no other ache quite like hitting cold sheets where his warm wife should be. He takes a few deep breaths, then looks over at his phone. He picks it up and stares at it a moment, the sound of Rose’s tears still ringing in his mind, then dials into his voicemail.

_“Hey Superman. Sorry to disappoint, but it looks like I’m going to have to take a raincheck on lunch and the afternoon delight. Duty calls. Should just be a routine tag and bag, but you know how bleeding time consuming those can get. If it gets late, I’ll pick up dinner. I love you!”_

As the weeks have passed, Malcolm has found himself splitting his time between burying himself in work at Vitex and haunting the white room at Torchwood, where the cannon is once again being constructed at an agonizing crawl. Despite already having basic plans, Pete's insisted on checking every component as it's added, trying to mitigate the risk as much as possible. Taylor has been vibrating like an over-caffeinated toddler since the project started, babbling about all sorts of new discoveries that he's making about relative dimensions that Malcolm can't understand or care less about. He tolerates it, however, by telling himself that it's bringing him one step closer to Rose.

Today, he gets chased away from the cannon room, something about critical tests being performed. They need as few variables as possible, and apparently him and his vortex energy create a huge variable--having him around while working on dimensional capabilities tends to make the instruments a bit jumpy. Irritated but resigned, he returns to Vitex, not wanting to cause any _more_ loss in momentum. At least there he finds a welcome distraction--someone okayed a marketing campaign while he was out of the office, with disastrous results.

“You realize that you’ve somehow managed to offend basically every gender, religion, and fucking ethnic group on the fucking _planet_ with this design?” he thunders at one of the marketing execs, some hot shot he’s honestly been wanting to take down a peg or twelve for months. 

“Your office checked off on it,” the man says, squirming a little. 

“At this point, I’d consider the possibility of personal fucking vendetta,” Malcolm retorts, “because this whole campaign is fucking ludicrous. I don’t fucking care where you graduated from or your position in your class or how often your silver fucking baby spoon was polished by your dad’s butler, something like this crosses my desk again, and you’ll be done here.”

“Oh please,” the man sneers. “You don’t frighten me with your whole delusion of power. You’re an over-glorified PR agent who’s got the benefit of sleeping with the boss’s daughter. Wonder how long that pull will last, since your young wife is...MIA.”

“I assure you, I don’t need familial connections to make sure your career sinks to the bottom of the fucking Thames,” Malcolm says darkly, barely restraining himself from throwing the cunt in there with it. “Get the fuck out of my office.”

“I’ll be taking this up with human resources,” the man says as he stands, straightening his jacket. “You can’t talk to people like this.”

“Take it up with whoever you like,” Malcolm says mildly, shuffling through the other papers on his desk. “But you _will_ lose. That’s a fucking promise.”

The man storms out with an irritated huff, and Malcolm looks up at the door as he exits. It’s not a good sign if people are starting to notice Rose’s prolonged absence, even pompous little bags of vitriol like the marketing exec. Bad enough that she’s still gone, he doesn’t need a bunch of idiots poking around into her disappearance.

He sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face as he turns back to his desk and making a note to talk to Pete about it soon. There’s a tenuous relationship between the government and Torchwood, mainly consisting of an enormous amount of funding and a lot of “don’t ask, don’t tell” attitudes. If it does come out that Rose isn’t simply abroad, there still might be ways to avoid a formal investigation, given that a formal investigation would turn up absolutely nothing but headaches for a lot of people.

But that’s a problem for another day, and one Malcolm doesn’t want to dwell on for too long. He’s always been a master at contingency plans, but making any plans that admit the possibility that she still won’t be back for an indefinite period of time is excruciating to even consider. Instead, he turns back to the problem at hand, running down the list of everyone to call to get the adverts pulled and drafted an apologetic press release.

He runs out of work on that particular puzzle right around six and stares at the other possibilities for a moment before shaking his head and throwing a few files into his briefcase to work on at home. Nathan’s been stopping at his place after school to take Shadow out in an effort to prove to Annie that he’s responsible enough for a dog, but since he regularly forgets, it’s proving to be a bit counterproductive to his end goal. The dog has been surprisingly easy to train, but there has been more than one occasion where Shadow’s been prancing around in front of the door when Malcolm came home, looking about ready to burst before being taken out. No reason to make the little fucker suffer more than necessary.

Sure enough, Malcolm barely has a chance to put down his briefcase before Shadow is whining at him and tugging at the leash on the wall. Within minutes of getting home, Malcolm’s leaving the house again, dog in tow. Shadow sniffs around excitedly as Malcolm pauses to light a cigarette, ignoring the dog’s huff of annoyance when he smells it. Between the recurring nightmare and being shut out from the cannon development, plus the crack about Rose missing, he hasn’t got the patience for canine judgement of his bad habits.

He’s nearing the end of his second cigarette when they reach the house again, and Malcolm stops, eyes narrowing at the second car in the drive. He approaches more slowly, keeping Shadow close, despite knowing who it is.

"Jackie," he greets the woman standing on his porch warily.

"Heard you'd finally let the dog in," Jackie says as Shadow creeps toward her, sniffing her curiously.

"Yeah," he says shortly, stooping to unclip the dog's leash. "What can I do for you?"

"You haven't been by for dinner in a while," she says as he unlocks the door. "I brought shepherd's pie."

He pushes the door open, and Jackie sweeps past him. "Won't you come in?" He shakes his head, following her. "I've got plenty of food."

"You could try eating it," she retorts, eyeing him critically. "That suit's not hiding anything."

"What do you want, Jackie?" he asks with a sigh, following her into the kitchen.

"Like I said, you haven't been to dinner in a while," she answers, shifting things around in the fridge to fit in her pie. "I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"I'm fine," he lies easily, walking past her into the dining room and heading for the liquor cabinet. "Brandy?"

She shakes her head, and he shrugs, reaching for a decanter. "Your sister stopped coming to dinner too."

"It's just dinner," he says, pouring himself a drink and turning back to her, his face carefully impassive as he sips his brandy. Beyond anything else, being around Rose’s family just made the void left by her more obvious. The one dinner he’d been to after she went missing, he spent the whole evening wishing he could escape, and hasn’t been back since.

"It's a family dinner," she reminds him. "And it's not like you've got anything better going on."

He considers her a moment, then tells her, "We're not family though, not really. You don't even like me half the time. All we've got in common is Rose, and with her...absent, there's not even that."

"That's not true," she protests, and he arches an eyebrow at her. "Even if it was, it doesn't matter. ‘Cause you make my daughter happier than I've ever seen her, and I know you love her, and that was true even when you were telling yourselves you could hide it. Now, we might've had our differences over the years, you and me, but you're still family, and I still love you, no matter how cantankerous you can get. So you're just going to have to get used to that, alright?"

Malcolm looks down for a moment, licking his lips and swallowing hard before returning his gaze to hers. "Yes ma'am," he says, his voice a little rough.

"Right. Oh, come here, you," she says, stepping forward and reaching up to wrap her arms around his shoulders. He returns the embrace stiffly, not entirely at home with this new affectionate Jackie. "I know it hurts, sweetheart," Jackie continues, still hugging him, "but it's not gonna get better by closing yourself off from everyone. And I've seen both of you do some amazing things...you'll get her back, Malcolm."

His eyes are burning when she steps back, and he looks down at his brandy before taking another drink. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth against the burn in his throat, trying to ignore the pain lancing through his heart.

“Thanks, Jackie,” he mutters finally, not quite meeting her gaze. “For the pie...and...everything.”

“Of course,” she replies. “I better get back before Tony locks the nanny in a cupboard again. I swear, that child will be nothing but trouble. Just like his bleeding sister for causing chaos.” Malcolm lets out a shaky laugh at that, easily picturing a young Rose driving Jackie up the wall with her curiosity and energy. “I’ll see you Sunday, yeah?”

He hesitates; as nice as her words were, he’s still not sure he can take that again. “I’m not...I don’t--”

“Well, it’s there if you want it,” Jackie says gently, squeezing his arm, and he nods gratefully. “And tell that sister of yours that she’s still welcome too. Once a Tyler, always a Tyler. You can even bring the dog. I’m sure Tony’d love it.”

“I’ll think about it,” he says finally, walking her to the door.

“‘Til then, take care of yourself,” she says. “Eat something once in a while, and for god’s sake, stop smoking. Rose’ll have all our hides if you waste away to nothing while she’s gone.”

“I can take care of myself,” he tells her. “I managed to do it for more than half a century before Rose showed up.”

She leaves with a doubtful noise, and he shakes his head as he closes the door behind her. He heads into the living room, sinking into an armchair and letting his head fall back as the emptiness in the house once again becomes thick and oppressive. Shadow approaches with a click of toenails and sits down beside him, resting his head on Malcolm’s knee. Malcolm takes another sip of brandy and scratches the dog’s ear absently. He had managed to survive for over fifty years without Rose...not particularly _well_ , but he’d done it. It wasn’t as if the woman was a model housewife who took care of his every need anyway--half her dinners burned, she left clothes and shoes everywhere, and thought ironing was something that happened to other people.

But every smile had become like air for him, and without her, without those smiles and that laugh...every breath is harder. She took all the air with her.


	20. Daydream Believer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose discovers Tucker's affair with Angela and makes a huge mistake.

Rose walks into the office Monday morning, in a far better mood than when she left it, carrying Tucker’s coffee in one hand and the reports she had to prepare for him by Tuesday. Not to her surprise, he’s already in his office, and from the dark circles she knows he hadn’t slept. Something on the computer has his undivided attention, and she sees his glare darken as she walks closer to the desk.

“Good morning,” she says. “Coffee and those reports you wanted. Anything happen while I was gone?”

He doesn’t look up, merely reaches for the cup. “Nothing particularly fucking exciting.”

“You must have been bored out of your mind then,” Rose replies, then pauses when he doesn’t reply. She hesitates, then asks, “There anything you need me to do?”

“I can function without you, you know,” he growls. 

Rose takes a small step back, startled. “I… okay. I’ll… be at my desk if you need me.”

She left the room confused and slightly hurt; what on earth had happened when she was gone? Things had seemed fine when she left, even if he was annoyed at forgetting to send her that email. She had sent it though, just before bed, and so far as she knew she didn’t do anything to annoy him while she was gone… besides being absent, that is. He hadn’t contacted her with anything other than the request for the reports, which she did on the train ride back to London on Sunday.

As she sits down, she makes a mental note to keep his coffee refreshed. It took him anywhere between ten to twenty minutes to finish a cup, depending on what he was working on. It seems to be a slow day, so ten minutes it is.

She’s brewing her second pot when she hears a lot of shouting from Tucker’s office, and he comes storming out. “Did she not fucking listen to a single fucking thing I said?” he yells into the phone. “Keep her the fuck away from the fucking press… I don’t fucking care! Stall the fucking speech.”

Whoever’s on the other end replies and Tucker’s face contorts in anger. “Dance fucking naked while wearing nothing but a fucking tutu and wave around fucking bananas for all I fucking care. Just fucking do it!”

“Need me to get the _Mail_?” Rose asks, resignedly. 

He shoots her a look. “I’ll fucking tell you who to contact,” he growls before dashing out of the room.

Rose stares after him, then shakes her head. Oh well. His sleep deprivation is someone else’s problem now.

Although she doesn’t really feel sorry for them; he needs sleep, and whatever speech they were giving had apparently kept him up all night. While she’s able to pawn off some tasks to Tucker’s orderlies, she can’t do it too often without him getting suspicious or give them anything above a certain crises level, much to her annoyance.

She sighs and leans back in her chair, her laptop on the desk in front of her. She was able to take some pictures off her mobile and put them on the computer in a password-protected folder; the background is the view from the balcony of their suite during their first anniversary. The sun had just started to rise, making everything a little soft around the edges; the mountains framing the lake sheltered the little cabin from the worst of the rainstorm that had blown through the night before.

Rose remembers the day vividly, even nearly two years later; it had been something out of a dream, having the entire place to themselves, separated from most of civilization. They had nearly two weeks there, spending most of the time in bed, even if it was just cuddling and talking a lot as they finally relaxed without any outside forces putting pressure on them. The third day there Rose had gotten the genius idea to go picnicking on the little island in the lake, only to find it overrun with poison ivy. They ate in the boat instead, and the lunch ended when Malcolm had tackled her and their tickle fight caused the little rowboat to capsize.

She had taken the picture on their fifth morning there, having woken up before Malcolm. She had wanted to see the sunrise anyway, and dressed in a fluffy nightgown, she had walked out with a cup of tea and her camera. She had taken the picture not long after that, wanting to save the moment; a few minutes later Malcolm had joined her, wrapping his arms around her and they had watched the rest of it together.

After it was fully daylight, Malcolm had carefully taken both the tea and the camera from her and pulled her into a slow kiss, and she had quickly discovered that he was in nothing but his boxers; he had smiled into the kiss when her hand had slipped under them to grab his arse.

“Feeling frisky?” Malcolm had murmured, and began playing with the strip of fabric holding her robe closed.

“You know what you being naked does to me,” she said in reply, and he had laughed before pulling her back inside and to the bed.

A small, blissful smile crosses her face as she remembers that day, her hand moving to wrap around her rings. It had taken her a while to realize, what with the days blurring together, but it had been the day of their anniversary; after he had made love to her he had repeated his vows to her, his fingers running through her hair as she laid on top of him. She hadn’t spoken, instead listened quietly, and when he was through she had echoed her own promises, sealing them once more with a kiss.

They had stayed in that day, Malcolm fixing breakfast as she made tea, the routine as natural as breathing. Even after they had finished eating they weren’t far from each other’s sides, and Rose remembered a feeling of contentment brought on by blessedly clear agendas. It wasn’t often they were able to simply laze about without anything demanding their attention, and she can still remember watching him mutter and curse at the old television set as he tried to get a channel in focus and thinking that she could probably get used to a life like this. And then he had swore again and kicked the television and anger, and laughing Rose had dragged him upstairs to the much more modern flatscreen.

But even when they’d finally got back home, relaxed and rejuvenated, and thrown themselves back into work, she still got the same thrills when she came home to him that she had since they’d first gotten married. They’d probably never be ones for the quiet life--she was too active, and he’d be bored out of his mind without having anyone to serve routine bollockings to--but as long as she was still able to come home to him, to see the special smile he only ever gave her, then she’d be happy. 

She sinks down a little in her chair, caught up in the memories of the years of their marriage, every silly pillow fight during commercials that always led to them making out like teenagers, the long nights wrapped up in sheets and each others’ arms, and even all the fights that cropped up whenever people spent too much time together or stayed awake too long or were gone for an extended period of time; they had laughed about them in hindsight, but the heightened emotions had always led to brilliant shags against whatever surface was the closest. 

It probably isn’t the smartest thing she’s ever done, daydreaming about Malcolm while at work, but she never was good at self preservation and while working around her husband’s duplicate it’s only natural that her body gets confused. She wishes she could go back to her flat and work out her frustrations, but there had been plenty of times when Malcolm had paid her visits at work and left her with soaking knickers and a head full of the things he was going to do to her when they got home that night, so she’s used to it.

She’s lost in a memory of them sneaking off during a dinner at the White House; some election party that her family had been invited to. Malcolm hadn’t left her side after he saw the President trying to flirt with her, and halfway during the dinner he had excused himself. A minute later he had texted her to join him, and they had ended up shagging in some random conference room. It had been exhilarating, sneaking throughout the halls of the Capitol Building, evading the secret service until he finally found an unlocked door. As soon as they were inside he had her pressed against the table top, one hand pushing up the emerald green skirt and the other palming her breast through the ivory silk shirt. He had worn a matching outfit, she remembers; his tie had matched her skirt, the shirt made of the same fabric as hers. Jackie had rolled her eyes at them when she had noticed, but didn’t mention it. Rose didn’t care because she was already devising ways of stripping him of the suit when they got back to their rooms.

“What the fuck!” 

Rose almost falls out of her chair when Tucker suddenly enters, staring at her with a startled and nearly wild expression, eyes wide. She takes a quick look at herself--her laptop had long ago switched to the screensaver, and she can see herself in the screen’s reflection; eyes slightly hooded but her pupils larger from arousal, face flushed, mouth open slightly as she takes deeper than normal breaths. One hand is still clutching her rings, so at least she didn’t have to worry about him recognizing them.

For a second she panics, wondering if he knows what she was day dreaming about before she manages to get herself under control and stuff her rings back under her shirt. “Mister Tucker! I wasn’t, er, aware that you were--”

“Clearly,” he snaps. “What the fuck was… that?” he asks, gesturing at her.

“Er…” she blushes deeper. “Well…”

“Never mind, I don’t think I want to fucking know,” he retorts, then storms into his office. “Get me some coffee, and pay some fucking attention to your fucking surroundings!”

Rose jumps to obey, refreshing the coffee pot and quickly handing him a cup, grabbing the files he thrusts at her and told to organize. She retreats to her own desk instead of doing them on the floor of his office like she normally does, not wanting his current stormy mood directed at her any longer than necessary.

Much to her annoyance, Ollie approaches a few minutes after Tucker ensconces himself in his office. She learned very early on that he wasn’t brave enough to approach her when Tucker was around, so it figures that he’s here when she can’t seek refuge in Tucker’s office.

“I’m sorry, Mister Reeder,” she says, not even looking up as she shifts through the files, “Mister Tucker is busy right now. I’ll be sure to let him know you came by, though.”  


He slinks closer. “What makes you think I’m here for him?” he asks, though it comes out slightly stilted. 

She bites back a groan and slams the file down, making him jump. “Look, I’m not interested, okay?” she says, and he takes a step back. “Apparently ignoring you isn’t enough to get it through your thick skull, so let me spell it out: I am seeing someone. We are happy. There’s no fucking way I’d leave him for a slimy little ferret like yourself, so back off. I’m not going to say it again.”

Ollie stares at her for a second before frowning. “It’s Tucker, isn’t it?”

“What?” Rose asks, startled. “No. He’s my boss.”

“Oh please, I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Ollie scoffs. “What you and Angela see in him, I have no fucking idea. He’s like a fucking grim reaper.”

“Wait, who’s Angela?” Rose asks, confused. 

He pauses, then smiles smugly. “Oh ho, you don’t know, do you? He’s sleeping with Angela Heaney. Has been since before you started working here.”

Rose takes a deep breath. “I’m not seeing Tucker, Ollie, in any way, shape, or form. He’s my boss, he has standards that don’t involve screwing his PA for a bit of fun.” She narrows her eyes at him. “Besides, even if I was fucking him, do you really think I’d give him up for you?”

Before Ollie can reply Ben calls him away, but he sends her a dirty look. Rose collapses in her chair, letting out a large breath. She’s not entirely sure what to think; Ollie is a slimeball, and doesn’t know how to take a hint, but this is also Tucker. And while she doesn’t know Tucker as well as she knows her husband, she knows that he would never stoop so low as to form a relationship with someone who could destroy him in the media. Ollie was probably just trying to manipulate her.

Clearing her head, she goes back to the files, organizing them in the specified order before moving to enter Tucker’s office. As usual, she doesn’t knock.

He’s on the phone, his back to her. “Yeah, I can come over tonight,” he’s saying, and Rose freezes. “I just have a few things to wrap up here first. Fucking Nicola gave that disaster of a speech--yes, I know you were fucking there, I fucking saw you,” he snaps, and pauses for the reply. “No, I’m not going to comment. Just because we occasionally have fucking sex doesn’t mean--Rose!” he exclaims, when he finally sees her. “When will you learn to knock?”

“I’m… sorry,” she stammers out, and he ends the phone call with a few terse words. “I finished the files, and I thought…”

“I was in the middle of something,” he grumbles.

She clutches at the files. “Are you really sleeping with Angela Heaney?” 

His eyes catch fire, and she gulps. “It isn’t any of your fucking business who I spend my nights with,” he snarls. “Give me those fucking files and get the fuck out.”

Rose lurches forward, mind swimming. It feels like she’s drowning; Tucker may not be her husband, but somehow she had still thought of him as hers, and the fact that he’s sleeping with someone…

Bloody Angela Heaney. Rose had even invited her to their wedding, despite Malcolm’s complaints about it. Catch her doing that again.

“At least it isn’t Rebecca,” she says, and instantly freezes as soon as the words escape her. In front of her Tucker stops his motions, his face losing all traces of emotion as he slowly drags his gaze to her.

“How do you know about her?” he asks, words low and quiet; she gulps. She’s in trouble now.

Rose panics. He had already accused her of being a nutter once; the last thing she needs is him thinking she’s some psychopath who has an unhealthy obsession with him. “Annie told me,” she blurts out, and is immediately horrified; that was the _worst_ thing to say, especially with him already so on guard. Despite he and Annie being estranged in this world, she has no doubt he would still fiercely protect his baby sister if the situation arose.

Tucker’s entire countenance switches from guarded to outright hostile; she stumbles back a few steps before fleeing, not even stopping to pack up her computer as she grabs her bag and phone. It was nearly time to leave anyway; her laptop would be safe, and she could always ask Annie to get her friend in HR to retrieve it if she needs it. 

She fumbles for her phone, shaking fingers punching in Annie’s number as she runs to her flat. “I messed up,” she says when Annie answers. “I found out he’s been sleeping with Angela, I accidentally mentioned Rebecca, and I told him that you told me and I’m sorry but I was panicking and I didn’t know what to say--”

“Rose, calm down,” Annie says, and Rose forces herself to stop, to breathe, heaving in lungfuls of air after her mad dash down the street. She continues walking after a moment, her steps quick and hurried as she goes to her flat. “Are you better now?” Annie asks.

“No,” she says. “I can’t go back there, Annie. You know him, he’s going to be suspicious of me. I ruined everything.”

Annie sighs. “Rose, you forget that I know my brother too. Don’t worry, we can fix this. Are you at your flat?”

“Not yet,” Rose admits.

“Okay, call me back when you get there,” Annie replies. “We’ll fix this, Rose. Just… remember to breath, okay?”

Rose swallows. “Okay. Talk to you in a few.”

She hangs up, wrapping her arms around herself. Hopefully she and Annie can figure out how to fix the colossal mess she just made.


	21. An Explanation... Of Sorts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before Malcolm's panic and paranoia can burn Westminster to the ground, Annie provides an explanation for Rose's strangeness.

“At least it isn’t Rebecca,” Rose says, and Malcolm stiffens, slowly raising his eyes from the file in his hands. He’d managed to stay out of his ex-wife’s clutches for the last twenty years; there’s no reason in hell Rose should even be aware of her.

“How do you know about her?” he asks, his voice low as he once again considers the possibility that she’s just a fucking whack job.

“Annie told me,” she answers, and the fury is immediate. He might not have the best relationship with his sister anymore, but he’ll be damned if he lets a little psycho with a terminal fixation on him within ten fucking kilometers of Annie.

His hands drop to his sides as he takes a step forward, the one not holding the file balling into a fist. She stumbles back a few steps with a terrified expression, then spins on her heel and bolts before he can say anything else. He goes after her, but she’s already down the hall when he leaves his office, having left her laptop on the desk in her haste.  


How the fuck had she even found Annie? And how had she gotten information from her? Posing as a reporter seemed the most likely scenario...his eyes narrow as he looks at her laptop, glancing around the hall before sitting in front of it. A few minutes search reveals nothing apart from a couple of password protected folders, and he has no way of figuring out a way into them just now.

He stands back up, pondering what insanity she’s keeping under lock and key as he pulls out his phone to call Annie. He gets her voicemail as he’s stepping back into his office, and he growls a terse message to call him back immediately. He sits down at his own computer, thinking for a second before searching for Rose online. He tracks down her current address to a bedsit in a seedier portion of Westminster, but that’s it. There’s no previous addresses, no social media, nothing. He contacts someone in records, and is told there’s no birth certificate for her, even widening his range of years.

As far as the world’s concerned, Rose Tyler, as he knows her, doesn’t exist.

He pulls out his phone and calls Annie again, nearly chucking the thing against a wall when she once again doesn’t answer. If Rose, or whoever the fuck she is, got to her first...he refuses to finish the thought, instead typing out a quick message to Annie that he’s coming over, and not to answer her phone or door for anyone but him.

His phone chirps before he’s finished throwing his files into his briefcase, however, and the relief when he sees Annie’s name on the caller ID is palpable.

“Why don’t you answer your fucking phone when I call you?” he snaps by way of greeting as he answers.

“Hello to you too,” she replies. “Did you consider the fact that I might just be paralyzed with shock that you called at all?”

“This is serious, Annalise,” he growls. “Have you talked to anyone claiming to be a journalist or anything like that recently, someone asking questions about me?”

“No,” she says. “Why would I? Hardly anyone even knows you have a sister.”

“Someone does,” he counters, drawing a hand down his face and pacing. “Listen, there’s a woman, young, average height, blonde hair, she might have come around--”

“You’re talking about Rose,” she interrupts, and he pauses, completely baffled.

“You know about her?” he demands. “This fucking nutter that’s been following me around?”

“She’s not a nutter,” Annie sighs.

“Well she fucking fooled me,” he snaps. “This your doing then, her being my ‘replacement PA’?”

“She needed a job,” his sister tells him. “I figured I could help.”

“She’d need all the fucking help she could get,” he retorts. “Seeing as how she doesn’t fucking exist.”

“There’s an explanation for that,” Annie says.

“Can’t wait to fucking hear it,” he replies, returning to his desk and sinking into his chair before kicking his feet up on the surface. “Do tell, Annalise. What’s the brilliant explanation for my mysterious PA, that somehow knows about my ex fucking wife.”

“She heard about that from someone else,” Annie says. There’s a pause, then she continues. “Right, okay, she doesn’t want people to know all this, so don’t...let on that I told you, alright? But since you’re in the sort of mood where you’ll tear about the whole of London to find your answers, it’d probably be best if you hear it from me.”

She’s the sister of an old friend from Uni, according to Annie. That’s how she knew about Rebecca; Annie had been venting to her friend one of the times Rebecca had resurfaced to wreck his life, and Rose had heard it. Annie’d mostly lost touch with the sister over the years, but Rose remembered her, so when she’d been in trouble, she’d turned to Annie. She’d been living with a bloke who hurt her--smacked her around, told her she was trash, the whole gambit--and threatened her and her family if she left him. So she disappeared.

“She created this whole new identity for herself,” Annie finishes. “I couldn’t just not help.”

“She shouldn’t have brought it to your door,” he grumbles, but there’s not a lot of ire left. “Why didn’t she just have the little fuckwit brought up on charges?”

“She’s scared, Mal,” Annie says. “She’s scared and alone and she hasn’t got anyone else. This might not be the best plan, but it’s the one that makes her feel like she’s doing something, so I’m not gonna stop her.”

Malcolm draws a hand down his face, wearily. He’s still beyond annoyed that Rose put Annie at risk, but not really at her so much as the little bastard that made her feel cornered enough to do that. He flashes back to the first time he saw her, bloody and generally shaken up. She said she’d been trying to contact him...he’d probably be easier to find than Annie, at least his office…

_"Can we maybe...call someone for you?"_

_"I don't...I don't think so. I don't... I'm not sure."_

She’d been so lost, and hurt--the idea that her head injury was probably caused by this faceless cunt makes his fist clench reflexively--and he’d...well, he’d treated her the way he treats everyone, with all the warmth of the fucking iceberg that hit the Titanic. Then before she’d left today, she’d looked terrified--

She’s been scared of him. He had no problem putting the fear of god in journalists and politicians, but it was something altogether different when a young woman was afraid that he’d harm her.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “I may have made things worse. Jesus fucking christ, Annie, why didn’t you just tell me this from the fucking start?”

“Because you would have just said NoMFP and been done with it,” Annie answers calmly. “She’s alone and a…long way from home. Anyway, I’ll talk to her, try to salvage the situation, alright?”

“Yeah, alright,” he says, running a hand down his face. “Just--”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says, not even completely sure what he was going to say anyway. “Nevermind. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Hey Mal?” Annie puts in just before he rings off.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks,” she says. “For looking out for me.”

“You’re my baby sister, Annie,” he tells her. “That doesn’t change just because I’m...busy.”

“Noted,” she says. “You know, you could still come over. Like your text said. If you want, I mean.”

Malcolm glances at his desk, looking over the pile of work still waiting for him. It was one thing when he was worried about her immediate safety, but now...he glances at his watch and sighs.

“I’ll be over in a couple hours,” he says finally. “But I can’t stay long, alright?”

“Fine, yeah, whenever!” she says, and his lips twitch at the surprise in her tone and smile in her voice. “We’ll be here.”

When he does finally ring off, he stares at his desk for a moment, wondering why this whole thing is getting to him so much. What the fuck does he care what some woman he doesn’t know does with her life? Not that he actually wants any woman being abused, it’s good to get out of that but...but she’s so young, and she smiles so much, and adorably impatient with all the fucking idiots in the office and bizarrely flirty with him. She lost everything, and she’s still smiling. It’s...dead fucking impressive, actually.

And doesn’t at all help the strange attraction to her. In the midst of his panic, he’d forgotten about the way she’d looked when he came back to his office earlier, her eyes dark and cheeks flushed, looking like a fucking wet dream and nearly making him lose his mind completely. It made no fucking sense. Sam was...decent looking, but he’d never had the desire to drag her into the office and fuck her against his desk.

Then again, maybe that’s why she flirts with him. He’s safe, since he’s old enough to be her fucking dad, as well as being her boss.

But if that’s the case, why had it bothered her so much to find out that he was screwing around with Angela Heaney? And why, for the love of christ, did he feel a little smug about her being even the slightest bit territorial?

Clearly, this is a problem, if he’s even finding reasons to like her beyond the fact that she’s gorgeous. Especially given her reasons for being here. He’s one slip from a sexual harassment suit of epic fucking proportions. He finally decides that it’s just pent up nervous energy from all the effort he’s putting in at work, especially in the subterfuge designed to destroy his own party leader. Bound to leak out somewhere.

A few hours later, he texts Angela that he’s going to be late as he heads over to Annie’s. Rose might be so far off fucking limits that she’s practically from another dimension, but he’s got to scratch the itch somewhere, and he doesn’t need his fucking PA distracting him from the task at hand.

The next day, Rose’s desk--when did it become Rose’s desk?--is occupied by someone else from the pool.

“Where’s Rose?” he asks the bored looking man snapping his gum. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Dunno, mate,” the man says. “I’m Derek. All I was told was that your bird called in, flu or something, and you needed a hand. So that’s where I come in. But I’ll tell you now, I dunno how you or her find anything in that file system of yours. And I don’t do coffee.”

“Yeah, I can see how you’ll be massively fucking helpful,” Malcolm mutters as he steps into his office.

He pulls out his phone and scrolls to Rose’s number before he freezes, wondering what the fuck he’s calling her for. He knows she hasn’t got the flu, but who the fuck cares? She’s just a temporary PA anyway, and it’d probably be for the best if she just didn’t come back. He needs to stay focused, and her presence isn’t helping that. He puts his phone back slowly and drops his briefcase on the desk, telling himself it’s for the best.

He’s changed his mind by lunch when Derek turns out to be one of the worst PAs he’s ever encountered; not only does he not do coffee, but he also apparently doesn’t do business related calls, take messages, or check his email. He actually had the nerve to wave Malcolm off when he was told to run a file over to Ben--at which point, Malcolm decided that Derek was no longer fucking needed, by anyone, and sacked him on the spot.

Through it all, he tried to ignore the small, treacherous voice in the back of his head calling him a fucker for driving Rose away from something she clearly felt was a safe zone. Even if he’d had what he considered good reason, he couldn’t quite clear the image of her terrified expression from his mind, or the knowledge that he’d put it there.

And it’s fucking irritating as hell.


	22. Strategic Retreat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After her altercation with Tucker reminds her just how far she is from home, Rose takes a well earned sick day to do some research.

When Rose finally gets back to her flat, she immediately changes out of her blouse and trousers and into jeans and a t-shirt, putting her hair in a ponytail. She needs to be Rose again; her hands are still slightly shaking, and whatever helps her calm down is necessary.

She finally calls Annie back after she manages to calm down and gets a busy tone. Her worry spikes once more, and she paces between the door and the back wall as she waits for Annie to call her back.

When her phone rings she lunges for it; to her relief it’s Annie. “Malcolm called me,” Annie says upon answering, and Rose sinks on her couch.

“Not really surprising,” she says, quietly. “He wasn’t… he didn’t blame you, did he?”

“No, he was mostly worried,” Annie replies, and Rose wraps her arm around her middle. “Listen… he asked why there weren’t any records on you.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“Said you were running from an abusive boyfriend and changed your name,” Annie replies. “And if he asks, you knew about Rebecca ‘cause you’re the younger sister of a friend from Uni, and overheard me ranting about her one day.”

Rose considers this, and smiles faintly. “Well… it’s not that hard of a story to stick to, since the first bit actually happened to me.”

“What?” Annie sounds surprised, then she continues, angrily, “Who is it? Which bastard--”

“Different Universe, Annie,” Rose reminds her. “Besides, Jimmy was cyberized.”

Annie’s quiet for second. “I’m sorry, Rose,” she finally replies. “Had I any idea--”

“It’s fine,” Rose tells her. “It’s a good thing. I’m an awful liar anyway, so it’d be hard to stick to a different story anyway.”

“If you say so. Listen, Mal’s coming over in a bit, so I have to put something together for dinner. Will you be okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, smiling. “Enjoy your time with your brother, Annie. Maybe he’ll actually have fun and realize what he’s missing.”

Annie snorts. “Well, one can hope. Talk to you later.”

She hangs up, and Rose leans back into the cushions with a sigh. It’s been years since she had thought of Jimmy Stone in any real detail--the last time she had brought him up had been during her and Malcolm’s first year of marriage, when they were taking advantage of a pillow fort Nate and Julie had left behind during a rare snowstorm in London. Since the power was out they were playing truth and dare and had lit candles around the room, mutually agreeing to not use flashlights unless absolutely necessary. He had asked about her first relationship, and she had told him about Jimmy; when she was done he had looked thunderous, but when she cupped his cheek he shook his head and relaxed. 

“I’ll do everything I can to make sure you never think about him again,” Malcolm had replied.

Rose had kissed him. “I already don’t,” she replied, and they ended up making love in their bed after he picked her up and extinguished the candles.

It seemed like she had done nothing but face old ghosts ever since she landed here, though; her occasional ‘what-if,’ when she wondered what would have happened if she had stayed with the Doctor, the hostility by Tucker so similar to when they first met and their fight after they had slept together for the first time; her origins, stuck in a dead-end job with no where to go, and living in a seedy flat; and now Jimmy. 

She sighs, rubbing her eyes. Her slip up today made it that much more apparent that she needs to find a way home. She can’t break into Torchwood again, since it was sheer luck that she and Annie got away with it. She can’t ask Pete for help again, since he obviously doesn’t trust her, and Mickey is… well. 

Rose grumbles to herself, nervous energy once more flooding through her. She needs to do something other than just sit around acting helpless. She couldn’t always wait for people to come get her; she has to find a way back…

She pauses, then scrambles for her wallet. She may not be able to break into Torchwood in person, but she can hack the system, and since she knows Jake’s account information, she can access it remotely and look for the cannon.

She’ll build it with her bare hands if she has to.

Rose is halfway down the street towards the nearest internet cafe when she realizes that the cannon doesn’t exist in this universe, since she wasn’t there to create it. She almost turns around until she realizes that just because the cannon doesn’t exist doesn’t mean they may not have documents over trans-dimensional travel, so with a renewed purpose she continues on her way.

It doesn’t take long to find a computer that’s out of range of a camera and no one can see what she’s doing. She sits down and pulls up the dummy website before logging in, considering for a second.

Mickey had once told her the basics of computer hacking, a few years ago when it was a slow day at Torchwood and she forgot her password. Although Pete had granted him a high enough access level so that all but a very few files were available to him, he still occasionally tried hacking the servers just because he could. She never remembered any of his lessons, but with any luck she could use Pete’s own account to sign in. She just hopes that this Pete used the same information. She types it in, and waits for the page to load. With a relieved sigh, she sees the database open.

It didn’t take long to find the reports on the dimension hoppers, the large yellow button that had inspired the cannon and had, apparently, failed to go back for her counterpart. She took pictures of the schematics with her phone, then moved on to search for other devices. There were only three known devices in total- the original device the Cybermen had used, the hoppers, and a strange squid-like device that only Toiknalda’s could use. She still took pictures of them all, though, hoping that she could create some sort of hybrid.

The fact that she knew nothing about wiring, welding, or just general mechanics was shoved aside; if the Doctor could make a TARDIS shield using braces and a toothbrush, she could learn to understand how the devices worked by the many pages of explanation and diagrams, surely.

Rose doesn’t stay at the terminal long, going back to her flat to review the pictures. It’s only as she’s looking for her laptop that she remembers she left it at the office, and the worry sets in once again. Despite the late hour she calls to let Annie’s friend in HR know that she’ll be out for a few days because she’s sick and will need a replacement. Her computer could survive a few days without her, hopefully.

She crawls into bed, ignoring the fact that it’s early even by her standards. The stupid thing squeaks as she tries to get comfortable, but she eventually lies flat on her back, staring at the stick-on stars she had put on the ceiling a week ago, and pretending as hard as she can that they’re constellations.

oOoOoOo

Rose wakes up at six, too alert to go back to sleep, so she takes time to clean her flat to the best of her abilities and tackle the dishes that have been building up in the sink. She gets a text after she’s done from Annie’s friend to inform her that a temporary replacement was found; Rose hopes they can survive Tucker for a few days, as she’s determined to lie low and let his ire cool. Despite Annie’s reassurances via text that Tucker isn’t upset with her, Rose doesn’t want to get her hopes up.

Her phone rings around ten, and Rose smiles when she sees her Mum. She and Jackie had tried to call each other at least once every few days, and Rose can already tell the difference in her. She’s becoming more and more like her mother every day, and Rose crosses her fingers as Jackie prattles on about some of the people she met at the pub last night.

“Do you think you could come to London one day?” Rose asks.

Jackie snorts. “And get chased out of the country? No thanks.”

“No one has to know you’re here,” Rose replies. “And… I don’t think Pete will mind.”

“Rose….” Jackie says warningly.

Rose sighs. “He misses you, Mum. When I asked about you, he got sad. I’m sure if you just saw each other--”

“That’s enough,” Jackie says firmly. “Rose, I know you want me happy, but what’s done is done. I know that we’re together in the Universe where you come from, but sweetheart, this isn’t it. I can’t just... “ Jackie sighs. “Things don’t always work out the way you wanted them to.”

“Yeah,” Rose says, quietly; if they did, she would have never been called in for backup, and would still be with her husband and family. “But… I just want you happy, Mum.”  


“I know, Rose, but your happiness comes before mine,” Jackie replies. “Now, tell me what’s been going on!”

Rose keeps it as vague as possibly, not wanting Jackie to know of Tucker’s anger at her; if Jackie notices, she doesn’t comment, allowing Rose to change the topic after a while to Jackie’s attempt at a garden. It hadn’t gone well, since the community garden plot is often raided by delinquents, in Jackie’s terms, assuming of course anything actually grew there. So far it’s mostly a marigold plot, with an extra helping of weeds.

Jackie rings off before lunch, having agreed to meet up with the people from the pub last night; Rose heats up a frozen pizza, not quite ready to leave her flat just yet, and a little bit surprised that Tucker hasn’t tracked her down. He no doubt knows where she lives, and angry or not, he’s bound to be driven up the wall by her replacement by now.

Not for the first time, the persistent ache that appears whenever she thinks of Tucker grows larger. Because it’s so easy to forget that he’s not her husband, that he won’t look at her and smile or draw her into a kiss and flirt back until they’re leaving quickly to find the nearest flat surface. That he isn’t going to live for centuries and spend the rest of forever with her.

She had never been scared of Malcolm before, not really. When she had nearly destroyed the cover story he had worked so hard on, she had simply felt.. guilty. Guilty and ashamed, even when he was ripping her a new one in his frustration. The lunch she had brought as a peace offering in return had gone a long way in repairing things between them. But yesterday, when she had mentioned Annie…words were his weapons, she knew that, but she’d never seen that much anger directed at her. 

Malcolm, for all his threats and demands, had never been abusive. Manipulative, sly, and definitely irritable, but he never intentionally caused harm to anyone he knew. The man she worked for didn’t seem to have the same standards. Politics had bled him dry until he was nothing more than a husk, and Rose was still looking for pieces of the man she knew.

That doesn’t mean she’s going to give up, though. Because for all that he’d terrified her, he’s still Malcolm. There was no shame in retreating until one could regroup and restock on their defenses before once more marching into the fray.

Until then, Rose needs the days off. She pulls up the photos she took of the reports, and stretches out on the sofa. She has some learning to do.


	23. Extra! Extra!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm deals with the fallout when Rose's disappearance goes public

Malcolm has the dream again. He’s in the woods this time, but it’s still the same dream. It’s still dark and he can still hear Rose crying somewhere, always out of reach. If he could just find her, if he could hold her, he could put a stop to what’s hurting her, but he’s always so impossibly far away, never seeming to get closer no matter how much ground he covers--

He wakes up to Shadow whining and licking his face, his paws up on the mattress to reach him. He sucks in a shuddering breath, deciding that he’s going back to the sofa, aching back be damned.

“Alright, alright, I’m up, you fucking mutt,” he growls after a moment, pushing Shadow away. He drags himself out of bed and into the shower, trying to wash away the lasting remnant of the dream. Maybe it’s because of the dream, or maybe because he just misses her that fucking much, he’s hit with a flashback of that last morning with Rose--the way she’d looked, the way she’d felt, the way her eyes told him as plainly as any words that she loved him and wanted him--and he has to pause, leaning against the tile for support as he gulps in steamy air.

After a moment, he manages to claw his way back to sanity and resume his shower. He finishes quickly, no longer having any desire to linger, then goes back into the bedroom to root out clothes for the day. He finally settles on a pair of dark wash jeans and ribbed pullover, the former of which Rose had finally convinced him to try on a year ago. He’s still not a huge fan, but they do have some merit on days off, especially with Nate or Shadow around--plus he’d caught her eyeing him appreciatively whenever he did wear them, which gave them a considerable boost in worthiness. He still refuses to buy more than two pairs, though.

He’s out for Shadow’s morning walk when the first call comes in.

“You haven’t seen the papers yet, have you?” Pete asks.

“Not yet,” he says, frowning. “Why, what am I not going to like?”

“Quite a lot of things, I imagine,” Pete sighs. “I’ll be waiting for your shouts.”

Malcolm’s eyes narrow as Pete disconnects, and he urges Shadow to hurry up--as if that ever makes a fucking difference. He’s on his way back to the house, though, when Annie calls.

“Let me guess,” he says as he answers. “You’re going to ask if I’ve seen the papers.”

“You haven’t, then,” she says, and he tilts his head.

“How do you know?”

“Because you wouldn’t be nearly so calm if you had,” Annie replies. “Just...remember that they’re all a bunch of vultures, yeah?”

“Always do,” he says, feeling increasingly alarmed and confused. “Annie, what is going on?”

“I....you’ll see,” she tells him cryptically. “Call me later.”

“Okay,” he agrees, then rings off. He’s scowling down at his phone as he approaches the house slowly, and therefore doesn’t immediately notice Nadia standing on the porch. She shifts awkwardly when he does look up, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “What are you doing here? You’re off today.”

“I know,” she says, wringing her hands a little. “It’s just...well, you and your wife, you’ve been so kind to me, and I just...I wanted to make sure you were alright, and let you know I don’t believe a word of it.”

“Don’t believe a word of--” He stops, jogging up onto the porch and grabbing one of the papers lying there. He tugs it out of the protective plastic and unfurls it, then stills as he reads the headline.

**Whatever Happened to Baby Rose? Heiress missing for weeks with no formal investigation; family evades details of her whereabouts, and husband’s history of abuse begs the question whether Rose Tucker will ever be found alive.**

Malcolm barely breathes as he scans through the article--it would be the fucking Mail. His fury rises steadily with each ludicrous accusation, aimed at both himself and his family, but shoots through the roof when he sees their exclusive interview with his ex-wife.

_I tried so hard, for years, because I really thought that was what love was. But he just continued to throw it in my face, time and again, even going so far as to throw his wedding ring--a symbol I cherished--at me, calling it a piece of tin. I know now that he never loved anyone but himself, that he’s just a miserable man that feeds on the misery of others. He only married Rose to prove a point to me, that I was worthless. I only hope that her disappearance is because she learned the truth and left him, before it was too late._

He lowers the paper slowly, then glances down at the others still waiting to be read. He scoops them up and carries them inside, vaguely aware of Nadia following him with Shadow. In the dining room, he opens them all, finding the article in each--some of the more respectable papers have it hidden in the inside pages, written in prettier language but no less inflammatory. His eyes travel over each one as they cover his dining room table, finding new bits to be angry about in every single one.

_...former colleagues Steve Fleming and Julius Nicholson cite episodes of violent behavior…_

_...when questioned, Rose’s family couldn’t keep their story straight about her current whereabouts--reporters were told Spain, America, and Greece by three different family members…_

_...position as heiress to the Vitex fortune could leave her husband a wealthy man…_

_...lack of formal investigation is a flagrant dereliction of duty by the police force…_

_...no missing persons report filed despite considerable time passed with no word from Mrs. Tucker…_

_...sources at Vitex say Tucker has seemed unusually shifty and bad tempered, almost as if he has a guilty conscience…_

In an hour, he’s gone through all of them, making a mental list of people to fucking eviscerate before the day is over. First, however, he calls Pete.

“Who did they talk to?” he asks, his voice low.

“Jackie, me, and Annie,” Pete tells him, and Malcolm spins around to punch the wall. “I know, I’m sorry. We all just thought it was a puff piece, they do those often enough. They called all of us around the same time, we didn’t realize until later what had happened.”

“You gave them a _location_ for her?”

“No...they provided it,” Pete says slowly. “We all thought you had told them.”

Malcolm scrubs a hand over his face, then draws a long breath through his nose. “Do me a favor. When your daughter is missing and you haven’t got any answers that won’t get you sectioned... _don’t fucking answer any fucking questions_.”

“I’m sorry, Tucker,” Pete says. “We didn’t want to bother you--”

“No, obviously, why would you?” he snaps. “Clearly, I have enough on my plate without dealing with the fact that my family inadvertently created speculation that I may have _murdered_ my _wife_.”

“Tucker, you know we don’t think--”

“Jesus fucking christ, Pete, of course you don’t think that!” he shouts. “You know what fucking happened to her!”

“But we don’t buy any of the other stuff either,” Pete insists. “Rebecca’s a head case, and I’m pretty sure anyone you inflicted violence on at Number Ten probably deserved it.”

“You bet your fucking arse they did,” Malcolm agrees. “Right, I’m going to try to do some fucking damage control--as much as possible, anyway. I’m not a murderer, but I might be by day’s end. Just, please, whatever you fucking do, don’t talk to any more fucking journalists!”

He hangs up, only to scroll through and dial another number.

“Angela Heaney,” a voice answers reluctantly.

“Miss Heaney,” Malcolm says. “I’d like a word with you about an article your boyfriend published.”

“Malcolm, I had nothing to do with it,” she says quickly. “I wasn’t even here.”

“Shhh, I know,” he tells her. “For all your fucking faults, you’re one of the few people I trust around the Tylers. What I want to know is how the fuck they got my ex-wife involved.”  
“Adam made a trade,” Angela says. “Exclusive interview with her…”

“And what did she give him?” he asks.

“Your sister’s phone number,” Angela replies, and his jaw clenches painfully.

“Right,” he says. “Here’s what you’re going to do. I’m going to send you a rather lengthy fucking email consisting of every piece of fucking evidence I have that Rebecca St. Claire might actually be fucking Satan, and you’re gonna turn it into something vaguely resembling a news article by the morning edition.”

“I don’t know if--”

“No no no,” Malcolm interrupts. “No, that’s not how this is going to fucking work. Because I like you, I do, but I don’t give a flying fuck that you weren’t there when this went down. The paper you represent is leading the pack on accusations that I am, at the very least, a long time abuser of my wife, and at worst, a killer. The cornerstone of that is a pack of fucking lies fed to you by the devil herself, so you’re going to read the email, and you’re going to write an article, and you’re going to have it in the morning edition, or I swear to fucking god, every fucking staffer on that god forsaken rag will be replaced by next weekend, and none of you will ever write a fucking news article in the greater London area again. Have you got that?”

“Yes, Malcolm,” she says in a small voice.

“And if your boy toy has a fucking problem with that, you can tell him to bill me for the largest fucking dildo he can find on the internet, and kindly shove it up his fucking arse. Alright?”

“Alright,” she says. “Um...you know, a lot of this would go away if you just...had Rose call and give her side of the story.”

“I look forward to your article, Miss Heaney,” he growls in response, stabbing at the end button on his phone. It rings again almost immediately, and he answers impatiently. “Tucker.”

“If you’d like,” Mannion’s voice offers, “I can run round the house stuffing gerbils down my trousers. Might take the heat off you a bit.”

Malcolm wedges the phone between ear and shoulder as he grabs his laptop and sets it up on the table. “I appreciate the offer, and have no doubt you’d find the utmost titillation in such an adventure, but I’ve got this handled. Just keep Stu the fuck out of it.”

“I doubt you have much to fear from him, Malcolm,” Mannion replies. “As much as the horde of journalists in this country would still like to burn you in effigy--or create a golden idol, I’m never quite certain--you’re mostly old news in Westminster.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

“If he tries...I’ll threaten to run round the house stuffing gerbils down my trousers.”

Malcolm snorts. “At some point, it stops being a threat and starts being genuinely, deeply worrying.”

“Give ‘em hell, Tucker.”

He writes the email quickly after ringing off, giving the actual reasons for the split some twenty-five odd years ago, as well as making good on the threat he’d given Rebecca the last time she’d shown up to create chaos. He calls his lawyer next, the one that handles most of the Tyler affairs and he’s been using since even before he met Rose. He’s assured quickly that a court ordered retraction on the basis of slander and libel will be issued by Monday. He’s debating the best method to deal with Steve and Julius when his phone rings, and he rolls his eyes when he sees Jamie’s name on the caller ID.

“And what the fuck can I do for you on this fine Saturday morning?” he asks by way of greeting.

“Looks like you're in a bit of a pickle over there, Tucker,” Jamie replies, and Malcolm’s hand balls into a fist at his side and the sneer in his voice. “Mind you, this’d go far in explaining why your young wife was absent at the party.”

“I didn’t hurt her,” Malcolm grinds out through clenched teeth.

“I know that,” Jamie scoffs. “You might be morally fucking grey, but you’d never hit a woman. You couldn’t even cope with Nicola fucking Murray crying. But I’m still pretty fucking sure she left your geriatric, prickly arse in the dust on her way out of fucking town. I just can’t figure out how you’ve still managed to stay so buddy-buddy with her dad.”

“It’s none of your fucking business, Jamie,” Malcolm retorts.

“Ohhhh, I think it might be,” Jamie replies, and Malcolm goes rigid at the self-satisfied tone. “You see, I represent the President and government of Great fucking Britain, don’t I? And I’m not sure how healthy it is for either to continue to be associated with a family so clearly fucking dysfunctional that a father would rather pal around with his son-in-law than go looking for his daughter. Sends a bad message, doesn’t it?”

“The whole thing is horseshit and you know it,” Malcolm says.

“Yeah, but it’s horseshit that people will buy by the bucketful,” Jamie comments. “Everyone loves a fucking scandal.”

“What do you want?” Malcolm asks after a moment.

“Your resignation,” Jamie answers easily. “It’ll send a good message to the President.”

“I’m sure it would. So is that really it? That’s your fucking end game? Not good enough that you got my job in the end, but you want to ruin me too?”

“You bet your fucking arse I do,” Jamie snaps. “Do you have any idea how many points I’ll score if I rid the machine of you? Every editor in the country will owe me favors, and you? You’ll be forgotten.”

“Shoes too big to fill, MacDonald?” Malcolm taunts lazily, dropping into a dining room chair and resting the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other. “Christ, you’ve got such a fucking Napolean complex. You know what you lack, Jamie? Finesse. You don’t demand things from people. You let them dig their own fucking graves, and then beg you to let them fill it in on top of themselves.”

“And your missing wife hasn’t done that?” Jamie snorts.

“No,” Malcolm says. “But I’ll tell you what _could_. Eyewitness accounts of my director of communications hitting on my daughter and snogging my wife could do it. So could an email shedding light on...ohhhh...several buried sexual harassment suits over the years. Do you even remember how many now, Jamie? Not to mention the pictures of him doing lines of coke off a stripper’s ass. Me, I’d have a lot of issues with knowing all that about someone as close to me as my personal spin doctor. How about you?” The silence on the other end of the line makes him smile. “Stalemate, then?”

“Fuck you, Tucker,” Jamie says, and Malcolm snorts at the click of the other man ringing off.

He deflates slowly again as he tosses his phone onto the table. He’s still got to call Annie, and Jackie will probably be calling before long as well, but he loses his momentum as Angela’s words ring in his head.

Because he’s got no real defense. He’s not worried about an investigation; a quick text to Pete and it’s being handled. But Rose is still gone, and the rumors are out there now. He doesn’t even care about that as much as the knowledge that he won’t be able to go anywhere without someone whispering somewhere about him, giving him another unnecessary reminder of what he’s missing.

“Everything alright, Mister Tucker?” Nadia asks, placing a cup of coffee in front of him.

“Taken care of,” he says, giving her a tight, thin-lipped smile. “Thanks.”

He returns Annie’s call on the way to the White Room, where he’ll once again hover and probably make people very uncomfortable as they construct the only plausible method of getting Rose back. Because it’s taken care of...but it’s nowhere near alright, and it won’t be. Not until Rose is home.


	24. Office Politics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose returns to work and Tucker shows that he's more like Malcolm than Rose thought

Four days after her altercation with Tucker, Rose walks into the Opposition headquarters and leaves a cup of coffee on his desk. Her next stop is to HR, where she recovers her laptop and leaves gift cards for those unlucky enough to take her spot, and then heads directly to IT, who had filched her coffee pot. By the time she’s done setting it up and making sure they hadn’t damaged it too much, Tucker is striding through the door. Rose ducks down behind her desk and pretends to be searching through her bottom drawer, but he’s on the phone and doesn’t seem to notice her. With a sigh of relief Rose straightens, only to jump when Tucker walks out of his office, looking at her accusingly.

“You’re back,” he says.

Rose blinks and fidgets with the sleeve of her blazer. “Er, yes. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

“You didn’t have the flu, did you?” he asks.

She straightens, crossing her arms. “Does it really matter? I’m back now, you no longer have to suffer the effects of the temp pool.”

Tucker looks like he’s about to respond when Ben strolls up. “Tucker! You’re here,” he says. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about the policies I emailed you about--”

“What, you mean the fucking piss poor excuses of policies?” Tucker interrupts, and storms back into his office. Rose sighs and sits down at her chair. It’s going to be a shouty day, evidently, but she hopes that it also means he’s going to be running around and leaving her mostly alone.

At least he didn’t automatically demand she leave. That was a good sign; she could keep her job a bit longer.

Rose pulls out her phone and hooks it up to her computer, downloading the files she had obtained from Torchwood and putting them behind three password protected folders. On a whim she pulls up those of her family, changing the background to her and Tony in Greece, the little boy on her shoulders as they stared up at the Parthenon. Malcolm and Pete had been planning the vacation for ages, apparently, as a Christmas gift, although there were still plenty of presents to pass around. Annie and the kids were also invited, as well as Mickey and Martha and Rita-Anne, although the latter three stayed in London so Mickey could have Christmas with Martha’s family. At the time of the picture Malcolm was with Annie trying to find shorts for Nate since he had spilt chocolate ice cream into his lap.

It had been an amazing week, with Annie and Rose taking advantage of the sun-drenched beaches as the kids played in the water, Jackie and Pete joining them when Rose and Annie were too tired to join in on their antics. Malcolm was busy creating a sand sculpture of some kind, even though he got his shirt and trousers nasty; it still ended up being a passable imitation of the Coliseum. Rose had never seen Malcolm more relaxed than during that vacation, even when some other tourists accidentally knocked his sculpture down during their volleyball match.

She smiles, remembering his easy smile and jokes, then thinks of the man in the office behind her. This version of the man she loves looks like he hasn’t slept in years, and hasn’t had a vacation in his life. She has another spark of anger at the hardened version of Pete, this stupid backwards universe, and the Nyladi that had thrown her into it in the first place.

The pictures in front of her blur, and she clicks out of them quickly, the feeling of homesickness so intense that she feels physically ill.

“Oh, Rose, you’re back,” Nicola says as she breezes into the room, and Rose has to plaster on a quick smile. “I just need a quick word with Malcolm.”

“He’s busy right now,” Rose replies. “But I can take a message for when he’s done.”

Nicola frowns. “I don’t think a message--”

“It’ll be more productive than just standing awkwardly in the hallway and staying away from your… other responsibilities,” Rose replies. “This way you can do what you need to do and Mister Tucker can get back to you after he’s done with his own tasks.”

“And I’m the party leader,” Nicola reminds her.

Rose raises her eyebrows. “Yes ma’am. But he is in the middle of a bollocking, so unless you want that turned onto you...”

The woman grimaces then finally sighs and concedes, “Fine. Please remind your boss that I’m leaving for Bradford for the here to hear tour, and have an interview with a local channel on the way there.”

Rose nods and writes it down. “I’ll tell him when he’s done.”

Nicola huffs and turns around, and Rose can’t help but mutter, “No wonder he called you omnishambles.”

“Pardon?” Nicola asks.

“What?”

“Did you say something?”

“No, sorry, just reminding myself of something I have to do later,” Rose replies with another fake smile. “Good luck with your tour, Mrs. Murray.”

Rose is in the middle of sorting emails and memos during her absence when Ben Swain finally leaves Tucker’s office, looking as if he’s been hit by a bus that was being crushed by a steamroller. Tucker follows after, looking like the cat that got the cream.

“Our fearless leader wants to remind you of her tour schedule and the interview,” Rose says as he passes by.

He gives her an unnerving glance even as he takes the scribbled message. She tries to keep eye contact, but fails.

Rose finishes sorting out the tasks that have to be done and the ones that were completed. It doesn’t take long to do the former--just a general memo sent out to the communications staff, and a response from Dan Miller about some opposition policy issues--before moving on to the tasks that Tucker had sent her after leaving with Ben. Mostly just to not deal with any take-away she might try shoving at him and tell all callers that he’s out of the office. 

He gets back an hour later, though, and Rose is once again on edge. With him out of the office she could ignore the fact that he might possibly sack her, but him on the other side of the wall makes it harder to forget. So when he calls for her a few minutes later, she takes a few seconds to compose herself before entering, clutching her planner like a lifeline.  


“You needed to see me?”

He’s standing over by the filing cabinet, but at her words turns to looks at her. “Close the door,” he says. “Don’t need you running again.”

She gulps but does so, and is surprised to see him drawing closer with a frown on his face. “Rose,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets, “why didn’t you just want to tell me that you were running from an abusive partner?”

Her eyes skitter away to stare at a worn piece of carpet. “Well, er, I didn’t really… want to admit it, sir,” she finally says. “Not something I want to think about.”

He makes a frustrated noise and Rose’s gaze shoots up to him. Her heart clenches as he runs a hand down his face--it’s such a Malcolm gestures that she has to physically restrain herself from stepping into his embrace. “I wasn’t going to think it was fucking shameful. But it would have spared me the fucking panic thinking that my sordid past was getting leaked to the papers.”

Rose spares a slight smile. “I hardly think it’s sordid, sir. You weren’t the one to blame. But… I promise that I’ll let you know if… he… comes around, yeah? I’ve started to like working here.”

“Fuck knows why,” he replies, and Rose turns to leave. He stops her, however, with a hand on her arm. “Rose, I know I’m not… everyone’s fucking favorite government employee,” he says, “but just know that if Annie vouches for you, that’s just as good as a blessing from the fucking Pope. And I’ll do everything I can to make sure he never hurts you again.”

There are several things that Rose blames on her next action. The first is the fact that he looks so earnest, and so sincere, that she believes him. The next is that he had every right to be angry at her, for potentially bringing her life into his drama, but instead is looking out for her, protecting her, actually being a regular human being rather than a political bollocking robot. More importantly, however, is the fact that he reminds her so overwhelmingly of Malcolm that she doesn’t even register the fact that her hands had moved to grab the lapels of his jacket. And by then it’s too late, because she’s hauling him in for a kiss.

For a second, Tucker seems to freeze, and then just as Rose’s brain is starting to reassert itself and ask what she’s doing, he moves to press her against the wall and drag her into a fierce, nearly savage, kiss. It’s messy, dominating, but Rose melts against him because even though a part of her is screaming at her that this isn’t Malcolm, he looks like it, feels like it, had just acted like it. Whatever better judgement she might be capable of is quickly overridden by how much she’s missed him, all of him, and she moves her hands up to his head, nails scratching over his scalp as she pulls him closer.

Tucker’s hands roam restlessly over her, fisting her hair for a second before moving to palm her breast and grip her waist and then move to lift up one leg and wrap it around his hips. Rose gasps, and he immediately moves down her neck, pressing hot kisses into the skin. Her skirt--the only one she owns, and is thankful for at that moment--rides up on her thighs, and she can feel him growing hard against her.

It’s that reminder, the fact that they could soon very well be shagging on his desk, that makes Rose realize just what she’s doing and with who. Because for all that the man in front of her looks like her husband, he isn’t. And even though she still loves him, she couldn’t do that to herself or Malcolm. Because it‘s wrong, in so many different ways, not the least of which is that this version of him doesn’t love her back.

She moves her hands down to his chest and drops her leg before giving him a firm push. He lurches in surprise, stumbling back, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. He looks--well, he looks like a man that’s been thoroughly snogged, and Rose knows that she probably looks a bit similar. “I’m… I’m sorry,” she stammers, her courage fleeing her as desire pulses through her once more. “I… you were just… I thought… never mind.”

Rose turns and flees, and he doesn’t stop her. She makes a beeline to the ladies, shutting herself into a stall and leaning against the door, breathing deeply.

It had been easy, so easy, to think that Tucker was her husband. And she doesn’t know how this is going to affect them--he may very well fire her for that stunt, although from what she had felt, and the way he had looked, she knows he had wanted her in that moment. But he isn’t the type of person to carry on an affair with his PA, even if that PA is his wife from another dimension. Not that he knows that, but he hadn’t been looking at her in a way that screamed ‘professional relationship’ after that kiss. And considering how Malcolm had reacted when he realized that he might be falling in love with her...

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she mutters, banging her head against the door in time with her words. As if things hadn’t been bad enough before, she had to go and kiss him and make it worse.

She steps back, raising her head and pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying not to cry. If anything, the kiss had made her miss her husband more, and now she would always look at Tucker and remember how it felt pressed up against him, know for a fact that he’s like her husband in every single way...except the ways that really matter.  
Once she has calmed down, Rose cautiously leaves the ladies’, finding a memo on her desk.

_Out of the office the rest of the day. Callers to be told to fuck off and invited to have an enema on me._

_-Malc_

So, business as normal, then. Rose sighs and sits down, placing her face in her hands. Now if only she could tell herself that the kiss hadn’t meant more than a temporary lapse of sanity.


	25. D-Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm proves his might as the Dark Lord of politics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Portions of dialogue taken from The Thick of It, season 4, episode 5. And we're very, very sorry about that.

Malcolm had been happy when he saw Rose back at her desk, more so than he’d ever care to admit, although he swore to himself that he was just glad to have a fucking competent PA once more.  He should have just left it at that, probably.  But he still felt awful about the way she’d fled, and had to say _something_ on her reasons for being there to begin with.  She deserved that much.

Then she’d kissed him, and all his cool rationale had taken a flying fucking leap out the window.  He’d thought just being around her was driving him mad, but it was nothing compared to the actual feel of her against him, the way she’d melted into him when he pressed her against the wall, or how willing she was to hike her leg up over his hip as he ground against her.  He’d been hot and breathless when he finally stumbled back, and more turned on than he’d been in a long time, despite his random one-offs with Angela.

And then she’d run.  Again.  She ran when he scared her, she ran when he kissed her--when she kissed _him_ , really...he’d simply...reciprocated.  A lot.

He leaves his office, dropping a note on her desk before making his way outside and lighting a much needed cigarette.  He pulls out his phone, debating calling Angela for a nooner, but decides against it.  Clearly it’s not helping the situation, and if he keeps it going, she might start to think there’s something else between them, and that would be a whole other level of hell he’d rather not leap into just now.

Instead, he calls Ollie, only to find that he’s left work already.

“I think I might have appendicitis,” he complains when Malcolm tells him to stop whining and get back to the office.  “That’s not really something I can put off until it’s more convenient for you.”

“Like fuck you can’t,” Malcolm growls on an inhale, glancing around.  “You probably just ate something you couldn’t handle.  God knows we’ve all swallowed enough of Nicola’s shit the past two years to give us all indigestion for a lifetime.”

“That’s very funny, Malcolm,” Ollie says.

“Fine,” he spits, dropping his cigarette and grinding it out on the pavement.  “Do they still put them in jars?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Ollie asks.  “Oh, Jesus, Malcolm, no, you cannot have my fucking appendix.”

“It would make a nice centerpiece,” Malcolm argues.  “Think of the fear I could put in these fucking twat journalists when I tell them that the last person to print something I didn’t like had an organ ripped out by me.”

“You’re not ripping out my appendix,” Ollie points out.

“They don’t need to fucking know that, do they?”

“I’m hanging up now,” Ollie sighs.

“Don’t be out too long,” Malcolm says.

“Is that your way of saying you wish me well?” he asks.

“No,” Malcolm says as he turns back to the building.  “That’s my way of saying if you don’t get back to fucking work ASA fucking P, I’m changing the fucking locks and you can go crawl to that twat Mannion for position.”

He stabs the end button, staring at his phone for a moment before making an irritated noise and looking around again.  This is stupid.  He shouldn’t be hiding from a fucking PA.  He’s too old for this shit.

Now if he can just figure out a distraction to keep his fucking hands off of her.

oOoOo

Fortunately, the next morning brings just the distraction he needs.  He’s still working on his first cup of coffee when he sees the paper declaring Nicola unelectable, and he actually grins.  He heads for the hospital before work to enlist Ollie’s help, stooping to snatch a bouquet of flowers from a roadside memorial before dialing Rose.

“Rose, hi. Listen, can you do me a favour? Buy some flowers for Nicola fucking Murray.”

“You want...flowers for Nicola Murray,” she repeats flatly.

“Yeah, have them delivered to her home this evening with a card that says ‘sorry you had to go, but let's face it, you are a fucking waste of skin’.”

“Waste...of….skin…” she says slowly as she apparently writes it down.

“‘Waste of skin,’ yeah,” he repeats.

“Should I ask where this is going?” she sighs.

“Probably not,” he replies as he enters the hospital.  “Plausible deniability and things.  Keep your phone close, I’ll need you later.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, and he rings off as he jogs up the steps.  He’s dialing again as he gets to recovery. 

“Yeah, Doug, get the cattle gun ready.”

“That bloody?” one of the political journalists at the _Standard_ replies.

“I'm afraid it's gonna be painful, yeah,” he replies.  “But you know me, I'm always on the look out for new sources of powerful opiates.”  He hangs up as he enters the ward and approaches the nurse’s station.  “Morning, I'm looking for Mr. Oliver Reeder.  He looks a bit like a Quentin Blake illustration.”

He heads in the direction she indicates, pausing to disinfect his hands, his mind whirring as he goes through plans for the day.  Nicola’s heading for Branford later, she’ll be trapped on that train pouring the gasoline for her own self-immolation, and with any luck, he’ll be able to maneuver Ben into a position to get burned when she goes down in flames.  All he needs to do is provide the gas can...and convince Ollie to hand her a match.

The key is finesse; best to let people dig their own graves, and pull the dirt in after them.

“Here she is,” he pronounces as he enters Ollie’s room.  “Britain's latest post-op transsexual.  Did they actually manage to graft one on?”

“I'll call you back, Mum,” Ollie says into his phone quickly and rings off, turning to Malcolm with a wary expression.  “It's the scary Morrissey.”

“I've come to cheer you up,” he says, tossing the flowers at Ollie and inspecting the grapes on the bedside table.

Ollie picks up the flowers gingerly, still suspicious.  “Did you actually buy me flowers, Malcolm?”

“No no no, It's one of the many advantages of living close to an accident blackspot,” he tells Ollie with a shrug, popping a grape into his mouth.  “So how are things, little boy from the Secret Garden?”

“Well, you know, there's no WI-FI, there's basic Freeview,” Ollies says with a note of distaste as Malcolm paces around the room.  “It's like living in 2003.  But I am lighter to the tune of one whole appendix, so I do feel very svelte.”

“So have you seen this?”  Malcolm unfurls the paper to show Ollie the headline.  “Nicola Murray is unelectable? Fleming is foaming.”

“Is that it then, is she fucked?” Ollie asks as he takes the paper and scans the article.

“Like Caligula's favourite watermelon,” Malcolm assures him, stepping closer.  “Fleming's fired the starting pistol, so we can all start firing our actual pistols onto her fucking fat, unelectable, smug head.”

“How...is this it now?”

“It's on,” Malcolm says.  “It's on like fat Pat's thong.  We're putting her on a train to Bradford.  It's the closest as I could get to locking her in a metal box.”

“Oh, this is the "here to hear" thing,” Ollie says.  “A great idea, going ‘round the country listening to people tell you that they hate you, just in different accents:  ‘I fucking hate you,’ ‘I hate you,’ ‘I fucking hate you.’”  Malcolm stares at him a second as he stares sullenly at the paper before looking up.  “So, wait, today's the day?”

“Today's the day,” Malcolm confirms, popping another grape into his mouth before sitting down on the bed, ignoring Ollie’s grimace.  “Once she's on the train, I'm going to detonate the main bomb, but I need you to set one off later.”

“Malcolm, I'm in hospital,” Ollie points out.  “I'm not...I'm not wearing any pants.”

“I don't care if you've been dead a year, playing cribbage with Jimmy fucking Saville,” Malcolm growls.  “I want you to make a bomb and explode it, today.”

“This is a...metaphorical bomb, right?”

“This is it,” Malcolm says, standing up again.  “Jack fucking Bauer, time for you to embrace your inner bastard.  I'll be in touch, right.”

He texts Ollie as he’s getting to the office to get in touch with Glenn--there’s an email from the DoSAC days that’ll provide exactly the sort of kindling he needs to scorch two fuckwits in one go.

“I’m going to need you to keep an eye out for an email from Glenn Cullen, if Ollie plays his fucking part right,” he tells Rose as he enters his office, handing her the flowers.  “Let me know the fucking minute you get it.”

“Ollie...in the hospital recovering from an appendectomy Ollie?” she asks in surprise, juggling the flowers with the notebook and phone in her hand and a confused expression on her face.  “Shouldn’t he be...dunno, recovering?”

“Plenty of time for R&R when you’re dead,” he replies easily, looking over the messages on his desk and snorting when he sees the increasingly urgent and panicky ones from Nicola.  “And how’s our fearless leader doing this morning?”

“Completely out of sorts,” Rose replies, and he smirks at her.  “I think even Helen’s losing her patience with her.”

“Better and fucking better,” he says.  “Still, only fair to give her a chance at a dying last stand.  If she actually has the guts to use this Tickel suicide to her advantage, she might be interesting yet, but I’m not holding my fucking breath.”

“Hold on, what?” Rose asks, blinking.

“For Christ’s sake, Rose,” he snaps, rolling his eyes.  “You were in a government fucking building, you should at least know what I’m fucking talking about once in a while.”  He grabs the article from two days before and tosses it at her.  “Educate yourself.  You can’t have been that fucking distracted.”

Except she had been.  He stills, remembering that she’d still been out with “the flu” when the news of Tickel’s death broke, and it hadn’t exactly entered into their conversation the day before.  He glances at her just as she raises her eyes from the article, and he can tell from her expression that she hasn’t forgotten the kiss either...but also isn’t going to mention it.

Best not.

“Anyway,” he says, looking away and clearing his throat awkwardly.  “One last gasp at life.”

“And then?” Rose asks.

“Did you order the flowers?”

“Right,” she says slowly.

“Right,” he echoes as he grabs a notebook and a couple of folders.  “I’m going to go skewer a couple of people; watch for that email!”

After that, it’s almost too easy.  There’s a small blip when Ben’s hubris comes into play and he actually attempts to one-up Malcolm, but his blinky blinkered vision keeps him from seeing how completely fucking useless it is long enough for Malcolm to convince him to resign and put pressure on Nicola.  Glenn leaks like an open sore--Rose shows him the email even while he’s handing Nicola the gas can, allowing him to toss a fucking zippo into the deal by suggesting an inquiry into the whole Tickel disaster.  Then it’s Ollie that hands him the grenade to take down Ben, even as he’s going in front of the cameras to announce his resignation.

“Oh, Ollie, you foxy lady,” he murmurs as he scrolls through the article.  He holds out his phone to show Ben.  “The press have been hoofing an email about that proves Nicola agreed with this key worker housing scheme.”

“Sweet,” he replies, then turns away asking for powder, as if that’ll make a fucking difference.

“These phones are amazing, aren't they?” Malcolm marvels, turning his phone around.  “I've got an application that can throw grenades into people's dreams.”

“So, how do I look?” Ben asks, and Malcolm stares at him, his smug fucking face that Malcolm would just love to kick in...but will take more pleasure watching him do it to himself.

“Has that suit got a reinforced trouser arse on it?”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” Ben says sarcastically.  “What, a joke that I'm going to shit myself?”

“No, you're going to need it for the ten years you'll be on the back benches,” he replies, holding out his phone again.  “The email trail about the key worker housing shows that you, Benjamin Trevor Swain were gleefully in favour of it...just like Nicola.”  Ben blinks and sputters as Malcolm gives him a lopsided grin and hands him the boom mic.  “There you go.  Break a leg, love.  And your neck and your wrist, it doesn't really matter.”

He heads back inside, leaving Ben to wallow in his own fucking feces, entering the main office just as the telly shows Nicola being accosted by the press.  He watches with dark pleasure as she burns for the cameras, shaking his head in disbelief that she can actually still think that there’s anyone out there who ever thought she was at all a decent fucking leader.

“This was your doing, was it?” Rose asks quietly after Dan’s come in to receive his accolades.

“Not bad for a day’s work,” he answers.

“You’re proud of yourself,” she says, and he turns to see her looking at him with a stunned expression.  “You just used one man’s suicide to completely destroy someone else’s life, possibly more than that, and you’re _proud_ of yourself.”

“ _You_ don’t even like Nicola,” he replies, frowning at her.  “She can’t even get the respect of the fucking _assistants_ to her advisors.  She deserved what she got.”

“And what about you?” she asks.  “How long do you think you can...keep yourself clean and free of the poison that _you’re_ injecting into the party?”

“Darling, it’d take something a lot stronger than an embittered Nicola fucking Murray to take me down,” he assures her.  “And with her last parting gift, this inquiry, everyone will be so busy covering their own asses that they won’t even see me coming.  They can’t fucking touch me.”

“I hope you’re right,” she says softly, doubt creeping into her tone, and his frown deepens as she steps away, heading back to her desk.

He pushes the encounter from his mind as he deals with the clean up of Nicola’s removal and the anointing of Dan Miller, but her words come back to haunt him later when the PM makes his announcement. 

“An inquiry into all of leaking,” Ollie echoes as they stare at the television.  “All of leaking.  We are so...we are so _screwed_.”

“He's done it,” Malcolm mutters.  “That chinless horse fiddler, our fucklustrious PM has opened Pandora's fucking Box and curled a massive steamer right into it.”

The inquiry he suggested to Nicola had taken on a life of its own, widening as it went up the ladder, and now the idea that was supposed to scorch the earth in front of him has flames reaching his door as well.  And now no one is safe.


	26. The Inquiry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose watches helplessly as Tucker's world spins out of control.

Rose shifts uneasily on the bench as Tucker walks up to the stand, and despite his confident demeanour she knows he’s worried. Three years of marriage has been more than enough time to learn all his tells; he’s confident in his position, but there’s an extra swagger to his motions designed to put the council off their game and keep him in control.

The past few days had been a madhouse, with everyone scrambling to find a way to clear themselves, Rose being thrown about like a ragdoll as she hunted down this email or that file or called this person. It had barely given her any time to draw a breath, even as her warning to Tucker the day of Nicola’s downfall pressed down heavily. Tucker had been blowing through the office like a hurricane, leaving wreckage of paperwork, scathing emails, and pale interns in his wake.  She knows he’s good, but his manic efforts have made her a little edgy.

Annie had called her shortly after the news of the inquiry had come out, worried about Tucker. Rose had been reassuring, reminding her that her brother had come out on top of a lot of things, and promising to keep her updated as much as possible.  She did ask Annie to stay away from the courtroom, however; seeing his baby sister was a distraction Tucker can’t afford, no matter how sure he is.

Rose’s eyes narrow as she watches the questioning; Tucker isn’t just confident, he’s cocky.  There’s a woman on the council who’s a bit quicker than he’d probably like, and he’s overcompensating.  She rolls her eyes when she cranes around him to see him giving them a rude gesture by way of explaining a photo, reminding herself that this is the same man who created her backstory and made the public eat it up.  The confidence and quicksilver tongue are what make him intimidating; so long as he can maintain control, he’ll be able to spin his way out of this too.

When the questions are over and the court is adjourned until the next candidate is called in, Rose wearily leaves the building, watching as Tucker approaches from a different direction. He nods at the waiting car when he sees her, and she dutifully follows.

“That went surprisingly well,” she comments as she starts looking through her emails.

“You fucking doubted me?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Of course not, Mister Tucker,” she replies dryly.  “You weren’t exactly...truthful, though.”

“No one who sat in front of those pretentious sacks was fucking truthful,” he retorts.  “The point isn’t to be fucking truthful.”

“Right,” she said, looking up.  “My mistake, no truth at an inquiry.”

“Absolutely fucking not,” he snorts.  “The point of the inquiry is spread around enough shit that the best they can manage is to say everyone’s dirty and accept it.  And make no mistake, darling...everyone _is_ dirty if you look hard enough.”

She studies him a moment as he pulls out his phone to check his own messages.  She wouldn’t really be surprised to hear her husband say something like that, because he hates everyone beyond his family, but there’s an added layer to Tucker that makes it feel slightly more sinister.  Malcolm wouldn’t be afraid to use anything at his disposal if he or someone he cared about was threatened...Tucker would use it simply because he could.

Tucker locks himself away in his office when they get back to headquarters, and Rose drops into her desk chair. The flowers he had handed to her without explanation are starting to wilt, and Rose stares at them for a moment before making a frustrated sound and grabbing the vase to dump them in the trash. She doesn’t need those as a reminder.

oOoOo

Fate, it seems, is out to get her. When she wakes up the next morning it’s with the painful realization that her anniversary is in less than two weeks, and she’s no closer to getting home than the day she had been stranded. She spends the next few days reading over the documents obsessively, even hacking into Torchwood’s database a few more times to see where she could get some of the materials she needs in between running around for Tucker. It didn’t take long to realize it would take her years to construct her own cannon, assuming she didn’t make a mistake and get caught first, and that was if she was extremely lucky and managed to successfully augment the various current plans she had and didn’t mess up in the wiring or the actual construction. The cannon had blown up the first time it was used after the world’s most brilliant scientists and engineers constructed it; Rose is definitely lacking. And if she got herself killed or stuck in another Universe altogether, she’d never get home.

Assuming, of course, that home is still out there. As the inquiry continued and more and more things were coming to light, Rose began to wonder if this wasn’t an alternate universe after all, if somehow, her past had been changed. The document had said that the results of the Nyladi’s attack were unclear; perhaps changing history around her was the result.

She’s feeling more and more hopeless with each passing day. She finds herself pulling out her necklace more and more, clasping the rings there, trying to remind herself that what she remembers is real, and that she has a home to go back to.

“Rose!” Tucker calls, and she flinches before dragging herself out of her chair and into his office. “Rose, print out every correspondence between me and Thomas Herrington. I’ll be out, so compile them in a document and email me as soon as you fucking have it.”

He storms out the door and Rose goes back to her desk, doing a quick search with each of his various emails and copying the emails into a PDF file before sending it to Tucker. It doesn’t take long, and since he’s gone she decides to take a long lunch break, dragging herself to the nearby Chinese take-out before heading to the park, her usual lunchtime haunt.

Perhaps she can find a way to distract herself so that her anniversary can pass without too much pain.

oOoOoO

Tucker changes over the next week as the inquiry takes a toll on everyone.  Whereas before she could still see traces of her husband in things that he did, they are gone, replaced by the hardened shell of a man with nothing to lose who is desperate to hold on. Rose tries to make him smile, tries to take his mind off the inquiry, but nothing works; one morning, she was bringing him coffee, he had snapped at her, before giving her a laundry list of meaningless tasks to ‘get her the fuck out of his sight.’

It shakes her when she comes to the sudden realization that Tucker is properly worried.  He’s still bullying and slandering wherever possible to stay on top, but it’s becoming more like the desperate acts of a dying man than the ruthless precision of the party enforcer .

Rose had talked to Annie yesterday, and she confirmed Rose’s suspicions--he wasn’t answering her calls. Whatever progress they’d made before had been completely destroyed.

 Every day brings her closer to her anniversary, and Malcolm has never seemed further away

Jackie, of course, had known something was wrong. She had called Rose on the weekend, something that had become a weekly ritual, and within seconds was demanding to know why Rose was so quiet. The story came spilling out--her worries about what Tucker is changing into, the depression creeping up on her with every day that brings her closer to her anniversary, the fear and heartbreak at his joy when he ruined Nicola.

He had never really been her Malcolm after all.

She had deluded herself into thinking that even though she wasn’t home, she could maybe make the world around her better--but with every step forward something blew up around her. Annie and Tucker were close to reconciling, and then the inquiry started. She had finally convinced Jackie to come down to London, and once again, the inquiry had prevented that since Jackie didn’t want to come into the city with Tucker as a possible nuclear bomb.

Given the way he’d torn through the office in a rage after his last time on the stand, calling the Baroness every foul name his mind could dream up--as yet, she hadn’t found an upward limit--she realizes her mum might have had the right idea.  It had been bizarre for her to see him flustered, without a ready answer, and she’s found that her unending faith in him...might have an end after all.

Annie calls her as they’re pulling up to the courthouse once more, and Rose stays in the hallway. “How is he?” Annie asks, quietly, and Rose sits down in a nearby chair.

“It’s bad, Annie,” Rose says, softly. “He knows it, too. He may have somehow gotten rid of the Baroness, but the evidence is piling up against him. I don’t know how much longer he can do this.”

Annie is quiet for a moment. “I’m thinking of asking a friend to watch the kids for a few days and visit him. I…I think he needs it.”

“He never goes home,” Rose reminds her. “You’ll have to camp out in his office, and I don’t think anyone, least of all Tucker, will let you do that.”

“I can’t just sit here, Rose!” Annie exclaims. “That’s _my brother_ , I can’t just abandon him--”

“You aren’t!” Rose insists. “Annie, he barely even talks to me, the best we can do is just… remind him that we’re here. He’s scared and angry but I’ve seen him when he notices that you’ve called. He still loves you, he’s just…trying to protect you from himself.”

“What about you then, Rose?” Annie asks. “What are you going to do after this is all over?”

Rose swallows. “I don’t know. I’m just…all I can do is just…hope that somehow, he manages to get himself out of this too. That there’s some good that comes out of all of it. It’s the only thing keeping me sane right now.” She looks inside the courtroom and exhales sharply. “Look, we’re about to start. I’ll call you later, alright?”

“I’m sorry,” Annie says, just before Rose is about to hang up. “I’m sorry that you’re here and have to deal with this.”

“Yeah,” Rose admits, quietly. “Me too.”

She shoves the phone into her pocket and hurries in, finding the seat right behind Tucker and sitting down. It’s going to be a long few hours.

oOoOoO

Rose is standing in their spot in the courtyard, staring up at the stars as the music from the Vitex party spills out from a nearby balcony. She’s wearing a lavender dress this year, the bodice consisting of rhinestones and braided fabric, the many criss-crossing straps down her back also shining with embellishments. The fabric curves around and meets just at the small of her back, and her skin is still tingling from Malcolm’s fingers brushing along the edge of the fabric all night. Her hair is gathered to one side and curled, with a silver barrette keeping it in place.

She smiles when Malcolm finally joins her, and he sets the two glasses to the side before pulling her into a deep kiss. “Was wondering when you’d join me,” she murmurs, smiling as he kisses her again.

“I had to make a slight detour,” he says, but makes no move to let her go. “You look gorgeous.”

“You’ve already told me,” she tells him. “Six times.”

“It’s true,” he shrugs. “Every year you outdo yourself.”

Rose pulls his tie out of his jacket to play with it. It’s black with a subtle emerald pattern, and she uses it to tug him with her until she’s backed against the wall. “So, Mister Tucker,” she says as she hops up onto the wall, “how are you tonight?”

“Much better now, Mrs. Tucker,” he responds, his hands settling at her waist. “I don’t know if I could have stood another second without some sort of reprieve.”

“Oh?” she asks as she leans towards him. “What sort of reprieve would that be?”

“I can think of a number of things,” he says as he cups her face. Rose nuzzles into his hand. “Fresh air, some… halfway decent champagne, my gorgeous wife…”

“That all?” She turns her head to press a kiss to his wedding band.

“No, but I have a pretty good fucking idea what would happen if we weren’t at a party,” he replies, and Rose feels a thrill run through her.

“Lecherous old man,” she teases as he leans in to kiss her.

He smiles as he finally presses his lips to hers, and Rose sinks into the kiss. As it goes on, however, the world around her begins to lose focus; light and sensation bleeding away until nothing remains.

Rose is dragged out of the dream by her phone alarm, but she’s too exhausted to cry. She manages to sit up in bed, but despite knowing that she has work, she doesn’t know if she can move. The dream had been a memory, of course--their first Vitex party after their marriage. But the dress she had been wearing was the one she had picked out for this year, the one she would have worn if the Nyladi hadn’t attacked. Her real dress had been green, a bright emerald that Malcolm had loved.

She squeezes her eyes shut, and reaches up to grab her rings. Why, of all days, did she have to dream of him now? Ever since the inquiry started she hadn’t remembered any of them, but of course, on her anniversary, she would dream of her husband and the life she could never have again.

Rose gets dressed mechanically, putting on the skirt and a grey blouse, dragging the blazer on and gathering her things. The last place she wants to be today is with her husband’s doppelganger, but she’s too far in to back out now. She just has to survive today; that’s all that matters.

The building is quiet when she enters, everyone nervous and ghosting around corners as if they’re scared. Rose barely notices, mechanically fixing Tucker’s coffee before walking into his office.

She pauses, however, when she doesn’t find him at his desk. Instead, he’s pacing irritably in front of the desk, cracking his knuckles in a way that she knows means that he’s anxious.

“Mister Tucker?” she asks, softly, dread filling her.

He looks up at her, and she’s startled to see that he looks panicky. “Rose,” he says. “I think it’s time you get in touch with my lawyer.”

For a second the world tilts, and then it rights itself with an intense feeling of vertigo. She nods, stiffly, and leaves the cup on his desk before heading back to her desk.

She knew this was coming. Though she hadn’t quite expected it to be so soon, it isn’t a complete shock. Things had been getting worse with every passing day, and it makes sense. Why shouldn’t everything be destroyed on what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life? Why not just have the entire world fall to pieces around her?

She makes the call, and when the lawyer informs her that he’s on his way, she gets up and grabs her bag. It’s not like she has any reason to be there now anyway, since Tucker is getting arrested for perjury and he’s her boss.

As she pushes open the doors and heads down the street, she tries not to wonder where she will go next. For now, she just wants to be alone.


	27. Shot To Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As his anniversary draws close, Malcolm finally gets some good news from Torchwood

Malcolm sits at his desk and reads the same paragraph of the press release he’s proofing that he’s read at least fifteen times now. Every time he tries to focus, he goes through the same cycle: read a sentence, maybe two, then his eyes drift to the note on his calendar about his anniversary and accompanying holiday coming up next week, then the shooting stab of pain as he lifts his gaze to where his wedding photo is supposed to be, but isn’t, because he’d thrown it in a drawer at a low point two weeks ago, and he keeps meaning to put it back, but it only reminds him that there was a low point because Rose is _still gone_ \--

He sucks in a deep breath, running his hands down his face and leaning back in his chair. She’s been gone nearly three months now. They were supposed to go to the Caribbean for their holiday; he’d booked it partly because he knows she loves the sun, and partly because he loves finding an excuse to keep her in swimming costumes at least 85% of the time she’s wearing clothes at all.

They’re supposed to leave in three days, with their anniversary in eight.

He can’t bring himself to cancel it the way he cancelled all the other minibreaks they had planned over the summer. The cancellation receipts are piling up on the desk in his study, and have nearly obscured the picture he has there--not a wedding shot, but a candid one of Rose taken just after they got married, and that much more painful, because he can still hear the laugh she was letting off when it was taken.

He doesn’t go in his study at all anymore. Not unless he’s dropping off another cancellation receipt. And there’s only one trip left.

He shakes his head, once again telling himself to focus on something he can actually accomplish. However, he’s once again thwarted in his efforts to get past the second fucking sentence when the phone rings.

“Tucker,” he grunts, tossing the release to the side of his desk in surrender.

“Ah, Mister Tucker,” Taylor greets him, and Malcolm immediately sits up straighter even as he curses himself for hoping. Every time they seem to make ground on the cannon, they find another setback. “I think, perhaps, you should find a way to visit Torchwood at your earliest convenience.”

That...sounds...suspiciously promising. “On my fucking way.”

He drops the release on Sam’s desk with orders to find some fucking lackey to look it over, then heads for the stairs, too full of nervous energy to wait for the lift. He enters the large reception area of the building just as Pete is stepping out of a lift, and they exchange a glance before heading for the door.

“My car?” Pete asks as they step outside.

“Yeah, fine,” Malcolm says even as Pete calls his driver. “Any idea what this is about?”

“Just told me to get there at my earliest convenience,” Pete tells him with a shrug.

“Yeah, me too,” Malcolm says, patting at his pockets, only to remember he left his cigarettes in his office. Fine, no matter. “The cannon better not have fucking exploded again.”

“I don’t think he’d call you for that,” Pete replies as the car arrives and they get inside. “Considering what you told him after what happened with the first prototype. What was it? ‘If it blows, you’d better be right fucking next to it, or I’ll make you fucking wish you had been’?”

“Doesn’t sound like me at all,” Malcolm deadpans, staring out the window and trying to keep a lid on his hope.

Two weeks ago, Taylor had seemed excited about some new finding, but only ended up asking for a DNA sample for some new scan he’d contrived. There was a lot of technobabble gurgled at Malcolm that he hadn’t even tried to understand, but the gist was that this would be a way to locate Rose. Finally.

And then nothing. For two fucking weeks. And a couple weeks before that, it was some breakthrough about masses and energy that unfortunately were only applicable to teleport, but were _clearly_ heading in the right direction. He hadn’t heard any more about that either. If he didn’t already know that Taylor was about as devious as a moth, he’d consider the idea that the scientist was just fucking with him at this point.

Taylor is indeed fluttering about the room like a moth when Pete and Malcolm enter, practically skipping over to them when he catches sight of them. Malcolm once again tries to rein in the hope growing inside him--for all he knows, Taylor’s just enthusiastically baffled because the cannon managed to teleport itself to fucking Never Never Land or something. Taylor’s one of those people that gets excited about not knowing things, which makes him exactly the type of person that Malcolm is _deeply _mistrustful of.__

__“Gentlemen, I have good news,” Taylor says, grinning from ear to ear. Mickey, also loitering in the White Room and using a spanner on...something, looks up and saunters over. Malcolm gives him a look, and Mickey shrugs, but he’s got a small smile on his lips that has Malcolm’s eyes shooting back to Taylor._ _

__“Well, don’t keep us in fucking suspense,” he growls._ _

__“Right, yes, of course,” Taylor says. “The good news is actually two-fold. One, I believe we’ve located your wife. And two, I believe we’ve worked out how to get there.”_ _

__The explanation of it all is white noise as Malcolm tries to process those pieces of information. He’d firmly stood on the grounds that Rose had to be alive somewhere, and that eventually, they’d get her back. But after nearly three months of pain and disappointment and loneliness, he’s having a hard time actually coming to terms that he was right, that she’s okay, or at least alive, and he might have her back, soon._ _

__Words start to filter through after a few minutes, something about energy exchange and sliding coefficients and wall anti-density, none of which makes any fucking sense to him. What he does catch is Taylor saying something about these things being the last vital bits of information that he’d been lacking the last time the cannon was built, rendering it useless._ _

__“But you can fix it now?” Malcolm asks, his voice rough._ _

__“I don’t foresee any problems with that, no,” Taylor replies easily._ _

__“How long?” he asks._ _

__“Two, maybe three more weeks,” the scientist answers, and Malcolm’s eyes slide closed. So close, it was _so close_ \--_ _

__“Make it one,” Pete says, and Malcolm’s eyes pop open again as he stares at his boss turned father-in-law. “Pull more people from other projects if you have to. She’s been gone long enough.”_ _

__“I...yes, of course sir,” Taylor says quickly. “They may...request additional compensation for the longer hours needed.”_ _

__“They can have whatever they want,” he replies. “Just get it working.”_ _

__“Of course, sir,” Taylor says. “Right away, sir.”_ _

__“Call me the second it’s finished,” the director adds. “Regardless of the time.”_ _

__Malcolm stares at Pete with an open mouth as he turns and strides from the room. He blinks and shakes himself after a second, following the other man after a quick glance at Taylor and Mickey._ _

__“You said you wouldn’t okay it until you were certain that every kink had been worked out,” he reminds Pete when he catches up with him._ _

__“Well, then, they’d better have every kink worked out in a week,” Pete replies with a shrug, then cuts a look at Malcolm. “Neither of you deserve to be alone for your anniversary. It might not be the vacation you planned, but she should be home.”_ _

__oOoOo_ _

__The next week drags by. The idea that he could see Rose again in a matter of days has Malcolm too keyed up to focus on much of anything. He finally gives in and cancels their trip to the Caribbean the day before they're supposed to leave, but the pain of that is mitigated when he tells himself she'll be home by then. At work, he's jittery like he's had too much caffeine--which isn't, admittedly, far off, since he's still not sleeping well--and it makes him erratic, alternating between completely ignoring people and shouting at them for the smallest infractions. Sam is a dream, proving once again why she's been his PA for so long and across multiple positions, and keeps all but those deserving of a bollocking away when he's in a temper and letting the more benign slip through when he's feeling less on top of things._ _

__When he's at home, Shadow is happy to take advantage of the cooling weather and Malcolm's excess energy to play in the garden for hours, tossing a ball around or simply chasing each other. The dog helps Malcolm at night too, following him when Malcolm starts pacing in the middle of the night and occasionally herding him toward the sofa and putting his head in Malcolm’s lap to get his ears scratched and keep Malcolm still enough for his exhaustion to catch up with him for an hour or two of sleep._ _

__It doesn’t help that Taylor and his team are once again maintaining radio silence, blocking him from even entering the White Room as they work feverishly on new formulas and running new tests. So he’s left to twitch and pace on his own as his anniversary, that arbitrary deadline he’s had set in his head for months, draws ever closer at a maddening rate._ _

__The night before his anniversary is the worst. Shadow whines and paces behind him as he walks a circuit around the house, checking his watch and his phone alternately, waiting for some word from _someone_ that the cannon is ready, that they can go get Rose from...wherever she’s been (he’s trying hard not to think about that, so hard, because his thoughts tend to spiral into worse and worse case scenarios). When midnight hits, he slumps down on the sofa with his face in his hands, feeling completely wrung out._ _

__Happy fucking anniversary._ _

__He ends up flipping listlessly through channels on the television for hours after that, laying back on the couch and occasionally reaching down to pet Shadow’s head, trying not to think about the hole in his heart, his eyes burning whenever he doesn’t quite manage to ignore it. Annie had texted him just after midnight, reminding him that he’s still got a whole twenty-four hours left of his anniversary, but it only helps marginally. Because she’s still gone, and wherever she is, she’s still going to wake up alone, and that’s not how it was supposed to go._ _

__(He’s also trying to ignore the looming fear that she’s not alone, that she’s somewhere with someone she wanted to be with years ago, that she’s happy, that she’s not even thinking about their anniversary, because the idea that she might not want to come back sends him spinning into a panic that stops his breath completely.)_ _

__He finally falls into a restless sleep around five, only to be torn from another nightmare by his phone going off three hours later. Shadow jumps up as Malcolm sucks in a few calming breaths before reaching for it and reading the text message from Pete._ _

___Torchwood. Half an hour._ _ _

__He makes it there in twenty-five minutes._ _

__“We’re sending Mickey,” Pete explains as various scientists hover around the agent, working on various pieces of equipment being strapped to him. “I wanted to send Jake, but he pointed out that we don’t know what Rose has been going through, so a more familiar face would be better.”_ _

__“Right, yeah,” Malcolm manages, feeling jittery again and twitching his leg anxiously. “How long is it going to take?”_ _

__“Twenty-four hours,” Taylor says, and Malcolm nearly screams in frustration. He exchanges a glance with Pete, who looks apologetic, but can only shrug. “We’ve found a way around the problem of the walls, so the cannon shouldn’t overload like before, but it takes considerable energy, and it’ll take that long for it to ‘recharge,’ as it were.”_ _

__Malcolm manages a nod. It’s not their anniversary, but it’s close. Twenty-four hours. He’s managed to get through the last three months, he can hold out for another twenty-four hours._ _

__Probably._ _

__“What’s all that stuff for?” he asks after a moment._ _

__“The equipment provides a buffer and a shield of Vortex energy around Mickey,” Taylor explains, checking various dials and switches. “It will ensure successful entry and exit through walls of the two universes.”_ _

__“What about Rose?” Mickey asks, glancing down at himself. “‘Cause I don’t think I can carry a whole other set of all this, much less figure out how to strap it all on her.”_ _

__“Not necessary,” Taylor says. “Rose’s own body is infused with Vortex energy, creating a natural buffer for her. So long as she’s touching the relay device when we call you back, she should be fine.”_ _

__“So...someone who’s already got this Vortex energy wouldn’t need all this stuff to begin with?” Mickey asks slowly, and Malcolm stills, slowly raising his gaze to meet Mickey’s._ _

__“I should think not,” Taylor says, picking up a checklist and looking it over, clearly missing the increased tension around him. “It would take far less energy expenditure as well.”_ _

__“Would it?” Malcolm asks in a strangled voice._ _

__“Oh yes,” Taylor says happily, lifting his eyes and nodding at them. “The recharge time would be halved, easily.”_ _

__“No,” Pete says quickly, shaking his head before Malcolm can say anything. “Absolutely not.”_ _

__“She could be home by tonight!” Malcolm argues._ _

__“We have no idea what sort of place she’s in, what’s happening to her--”_ _

__“All the more fucking reason to get her out that much sooner!” Malcolm retorts._ _

__“You have zero field training, Tucker,” Pete reminds him, and he turns away with a frustrated noise, pacing up and down the room. “Annie and Jackie would both cheerfully murder me if I let you go and something happened to you.”_ _

__“It’s not their fucking call!” Malcolm shouts, spinning back around to him. “You’re the fucking Director, and I’m the only one besides Rose who’s got this advantage. Do you want to see your fucking daughter or _not_?”_ _

__“I think he’s right,” Mickey says before Pete can argue again, and both men turn to him in astonishment to find him looking at the ground thoughtfully. He raises his eyes to Pete’s after a moment and shrugs. “We can send him with some survival gear, some of that new nano stuff, in case he needs it, and Rose _is_ a trained agent. If he can get to her, she can keep them both alive for another twelve hours, whatever is going on. She’s survived three months, after all. And before you say anything,” he adds, turning to Malcolm, “this isn’t ‘cause I’m not willing to stick my neck out for her. But we both know who she’d rather see, if we put the choice to her.”_ _

__“This is still really dangerous,” Pete says uncertainly._ _

__“If something happens,” Mickey says, “if they don’t make it back in twelve hours for whatever reason--probably busy snogging and drop the relay, knowing the two of them--then I can go in the morning.”_ _

__“Pete,” Malcolm says in a pleading tone, one that he so rarely uses that it feels foreign in his mouth, and Pete glances between him and Mickey before throwing his hands up in surrender._ _

__“Fine,” he snaps. “But you're taking everything you can fit in your pockets.”_ _

__“Good thing Rose finally talked you into those jeans,” Mickey snorts._ _

__He ends up going back to his car for his lighter weight, casual jacket for more storage space and possible protection against the elements, and the team crams everything they can into his jackets, from tents to spare clothing to firestarters and god knows what else. When he’s finally weighed down to their satisfaction, Taylor gives a rundown on what to keep a lookout for._ _

__“From what we can tell, this is the most likely universe,” he says, and Malcolm cracks his knuckles at his side to keep from throttling the little scientist for using the words “mostly likely.” “The readings show it’s fairly unstable, drawing energy both from our own and from some internal source, most likely Rose herself. It’s likely that, once she’s pulled back into our universe, the one she’s in currently will simply collapse. Bear in mind, however, that while we did get positives for both her DNA signature and Vortex energy, there’s no way to calculate the saturation.”_ _

__“Meaning?” he asks impatiently._ _

__“There may be more than one Rose,” Taylor explains. “So you _must_ be sure that the woman you find is your wife.”_ _

__“Twelve hours,” he mutters. “I’ll be fucking sure.”_ _

__He synchronizes his watch with the cannon instruments as Taylor explains the relay in detail, most of which Malcolm rejects out of hand because he doesn’t understand it and doesn’t really care. He _does_ understand that it’s controlled by the cannon, and doesn’t actually need anything from him other than to be holding it, and to make sure Rose is as well, when the cannon pulls it back into this universe._ _

__Malcolm takes a few deep breaths as Taylor scurries off to the control room, trying not to think about what had happened the _last_ time someone tried to use the fucking cannon. His shoulder still aches sometimes. He looks at Pete as he approaches, face carefully neutral as he holds out a hand._ _

__“Be careful,” he warns as Malcolm shakes his hand. “Bring her home.”_ _

__Malcolm nods, swallowing hard when they order Pete back to the control room. Taylor starts a countdown, and Malcolm closes his eyes as the cannon whirs to life._ _

___Ten...nine...eight…_ _ _

__He keeps Rose’s face in his mind, telling himself he’ll find her soon, it’ll be her, it’s got to be, she’ll be in his arms soon._ _

___Three...two…_ _ _

__His breath gets knocked from him as he’s hit with the sensation of an immense force like a speeding train slamming into every inch that’s facing the canon. It disappears as suddenly as it came, leaving him stumbling and gasping as he reaches blindly for support._ _

__“Fucking _fuck_ me,” he mutters. “I’m too fucking old for this shit.”_ _

__He opens his eyes, blinking up at the sunlight in confusion. His hand is on rough wall in an alley that looks _awfully_ familiar. So much for hellish alien terrain. He straightens slowly and edges his way out of the alley, glancing around--then freezes when a very familiar figure indeed steps out of a nearby building._ _

__She’s only in profile for a moment, hurrying down the steps as she slings a bag over her shoulder and turns away, but the very sight of her nearly drives Malcolm to his knees._ _

___Rose._ _ _

__He opens his mouth to call out to her, but then stops, his eyes narrowing a little as he takes in the neat business suit and heels taking hurried steps away from him. He steps further out of the alley and looks up at the building, frowning when he realizes he recognizes it--the building that houses the headquarters for the shadow government leaders. What the _fuck_ would Rose be doing there?_ _

___There may be more than one Rose._ _ _

__If it’s not, he’s got no idea how to even go about finding another one. But he’s not ready to give up the hope yet that it’s her, his Rose, with an undoubtedly interesting explanation...one he’ll never get if he loses sight of her. He lurches into motion as she rounds a corner, and tails her from a distance as she walks toward a park not far from the building. She seems agitated, based on her jerky movements as she pulls out a phone. He can’t hear her, not from this distance, but it’s clear whoever she’s calling hasn’t answered as she pulls the phone from her ear irritably and starts texting instead._ _

__He finds himself speeding up without meaning to, drawing closer to her, because everything about her is so _Rose_ that he can’t keep his distance. It’s almost painful to keep from darting up to her and taking her in his arms as it is. He knows he’s blown it when she suddenly freezes, and he glances around hurriedly for somewhere to hide._ _

__“I dunno who you think you are, or why you're following me--” Her words stop abruptly when she turns and sees him, then frowns in confusion. He holds his breath, waiting for something, anything, to give him a clue that she knows him, that she’s _his_ Rose, that she’s coming home with him-- “Mister Tucker?”_ _

__That’s not it._ _

__His eyes slide closed as his heart sinks to the ground._ _


	28. Happy Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose and Malcolm finally reunite

Rose stares at Tucker, trying to understand why he'd followed her when he was supposed to be waiting for his lawyer. And when he'd changed into _jeans._ And when his...hair had grown?

Wait.

His body language finally breaks through her confusion: bowed head, slumped shoulders, the picture of defeat. Her heart skips a beat as an impossible idea occurs to her, one she’s terrified to even hope for. Her eyes snap down to his left hand, and she stops breathing completely when she sees his wedding ring.

His _silver_ wedding ring.

"Malcolm?" she asks hesitantly, taking a step toward him. His head snaps up, and she's suddenly launching herself at him, her body moving without any further intervention from her brain.

His arms close around her, lifting her off her feet as she buries her face in his neck. He murmurs something her stunned brain has no hope of comprehending before she feels his lips against her head. Her senses seem to be working overtime, cataloging a million tiny differences that drive home the reality that this is _her_ Malcolm. After a moment, though, another thought worms it's way past her shock.

She pulls back, and he lowers her to her feet slowly, his arms tensing around her to keep her close. "But...how did--you couldn't--god, were you attacked too? Oh, Malcolm, I'm so sorry, this is all wrong, I've gotten you stuck too--"

"Sh sh sh." He raises his hands, pushing stray hairs back and cupping her face as she sniffs, her hands moving to grasp his forearms--when had she started crying? "I didn't get attacked, and we're not stuck. You didn't really think I'd let you spend our anniversary alone, did you?"

He leans down to kiss her forehead as a sob breaks free of her throat. What he's saying doesn't make a lot of sense, but she's willing to take him at his word for the moment. She lifts one hand to the back of his head as she tilts her face up to kiss him, and one of his arms immediately winds around her waist again, pulling her against him as he deepens the kiss hungrily.

A noise behind her makes Rose break away from Malcolm, spinning around to see Angela Heaney a few feet away.

"So is that why you haven't been calling me?" she asked, nodding at Rose. "You've moved on to the secretary?"

Rose has a surge of annoyance at her dismissive tone, silently adding it to the list of this Angela's crimes (mostly consisting of husband stealing and being generally irritating). But they are awfully public--Rose quickly realizes the need to get her Malcolm off the street as soon as possible, before he's accosted and asked more questions he can't possibly answer.

"Well, you know how it is," she says, pulling herself together and pasting on a smile. "Last hurrah for a dying man, sort of thing."

"Inquiry not going so well for you then?" Angela asks, her eyes narrowing a little as her journalistic instincts kick in.

_Blast._

"Gotta run," Rose says quickly, tugging at Malcolm's hand.

"Rose, what the fuck is going on?" Malcolm asks when they make it out of earshot.

"Long story," she says, glancing around without pausing. "Your counterpart has gotten himself into a nasty spot, so we need to get you out of the public eye before we make it worse."

"I see," Malcolm says, in tones that mean he absolutely doesn't, and Rose chuckles despite herself. "So where are we going?"

"My place."

"You have a place?"

A few minutes of brisk walking brings them to her building, and Rose pulls him inside quickly. She finally lets go of his hand to work the tricky, nearly broken lock of her door before pushing it open and nodding for him to precede her. She closes and locks the door behind them, watching him nervously as he stuffs his hands in his pockets and glances around. The incongruity of her Malcolm in this shabby bedsit is about the only thing keeping her from losing it right now.

He lets out a low whistle as he turns back to her. "Bit of a switch from the heiress routine. I think our bedroom is bigger than this."

"Probably," she admits with a shaky laugh as he glances into the kitchen, making a face at the colors.

He wanders further into the room, then pivots toward the bed, leaning in to examine the picture on the wall above. "Nice painting. Looks a bit familiar," he adds, glancing back at her with a wink as she steps closer. He pauses, running his eyes over her again with a hungry look, then swallows hard and glances around again before dropping onto the bed, his brows shooting up at the loud squeak of the springs. "Jesus Christ, you could wake the fucking dead with this thing. You sleep on this?"

She laughs...then promptly bursts into tears.

“Hey hey hey,” he murmurs, grabbing her hand and pulling her down onto the bed with him. He wraps his arms around her, cradling her against his chest as she sobs into his shirt. “I’m sorry, I promise not to make fun of your fucking godawful bed anymore.”

A bubble of laughter makes its way through her tears as the practiced fingers of one of his hands begin to make quick work of the pins holding her hair in a bun. He kisses the top of her head as he reaches over to set them on the bedside table before combing his fingers through her hair soothingly.

"Everything is all...wrong here," she says when she regains some control. "I never got stuck, and I dunno, it all went to hell. Mum and Dad split up, they never had Tony. Dad sold Vitex to play General at Torchwood, and you went back to politics and barely speak to Annie and everyone's just so unhappy and I--". She stops as another sob threatens to choke her, and he makes a small, reassuring noise. "I got plans from Torchwood to try to make...dunno, something, but I don't know how long it would have taken to get supplies even if I could try to augment them, and I...I thought I was never gonna see you again."

"I'm here, darling," he murmurs, pulling her closer and kissing the top of her head again. "I'm right here. And back home," he continues, adjusting them a little so they're side by side, facing each other, his hand resting on her waist, "your mum is probably pacing when she's not screeching at your dad for letting me come, and Tony hasn't stopped asking when his big sister is coming home, and Mickey...is fucking Mickey, whatever." She can't help letting out a small laugh at the tone--some things never change. "And my sister is dying for a late night filled with cheap wine with her best friend, at which point, we can all hope she'll stop hovering fucking incessantly."

She snickers, reaching a hand up to his cheek. He turns his head a little, brushing his lips over the inside of her wrist. It's such an automatic gesture of tenderness that she has to bite her lip to keep from crying again.

Her voice is still shaky as she asks, "Speaking of home... How are we getting back there? How did you even get _here_?"

He hesitates a second, and she has a moment of wild panic that this is just some hallucination brought on by stress.

"The dimension cannon," he says finally, and her eyes widen in shock.

"Now I know I've cracked," she mutters, lowering her hand to his chest and staring at it as she feels the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. "Convincing hallucination, though."

He chuckles, pushing her hair back from her face and caressing her cheek. "I promise, I'm not a hallucination."

"Well, you would say that," she says practically.

He leans in, pressing his lips to hers and teasing her mouth open with his tongue as he pushes her over onto her back. Rose loses track of time as he kisses her, tongue sliding along hers as she chases his back into his mouth. His hand moves beneath her blazer, and she can feel the warmth of his touch through her thin cotton button up.

They're both breathless when he finally breaks away, looking down at her tenderly before arching an eyebrow.

"You think a fucking hallucination could kiss you like that?" he demands, his voice a little rough.

"Maybe not," she admits. "But seriously, the dimension cannon? That thing nearly killed you before, how did--"

"I convinced Pete to reopen the project." He shrugs helplessly, then falls back to his side next to her. "It was the only way I could think to get to you. It's safe...ish. Not exactly the most comfortable mode of fucking transportation...but worth it.". His eyes roam over face for a moment, then he clears his throat, bringing his gaze back to hers. "Anyway, I've got this relay thing that I understand fuck all about, but will bring us home in--" He shifts, jostling her a little as he moves the arm around her to peer at his watch. “--eleven hours or so.”

“You hate Torchwood,” she says slowly, watching his face.

“Do you fucking _blame_ me?”

“No, I mean...you hate Torchwood...but you still went to them,” she explains. “You went there, and you had yourself shot into another _universe_ by a machine that nearly killed you a few years ago.”

His expression softens a little. “Darling, I’d endure a lot more than those spooky twats and a marginally safe machine to get to you.”

“I believe it, Superman,” she says with a smile, and he leans in to kiss her again quickly.

“Now perhaps you’d like to explain to me what the _fuck_ you were doing in Westminster,” he growls when he pulls away. “Rose, whatever’s happened, please, _please_ tell me you haven’t been working as secretary to that little shit eater Mannion. There’s a lot I can take, but crossing fucking party lines…”

She giggles and shakes her head. “First of all, it’s personal assistant.” He raises his eyebrows, pulling an impressed face. “Don’t start! And I’ll remind you that that ‘shit eater’ is probably your best friend, beside maybe me. But no, I wasn’t working for Mannion. I was working for...you.”

“How the fuck did that happen?” he asks, brows knitting in confusion.

She ends up telling him everything, from the moment she landed in this universe up to now. About finding out where she was as she met alternate versions of family members--although she left out some of the more colorful portions of the first time she met his own counterpart--and how she’d had to come up with some of plan to survive and hopefully find a way back...how she’d been losing hope lately that anything would get any better or that she’d ever get home.

“At least I don’t have to get all jealous husband on myself,” he says as she finishes. “‘Awkward’ doesn’t begin to explain _that_. Figures, though, after all the fucking years trying to get you to indulge my PA fantasy, it falls into some other ungrateful cunt’s lap who wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

“That’s not....totally true,” she admits, cheeks reddening. “I did...kiss him. But only once! And only because he reminded me so much of you.”

“Imagine that,” he says, fighting a smile.

“No, but...he’s not you,” she says, shaking her head. “He’s...bitter, broken. Angry at the world for letting him down.”

“Sounds about right,” Malcolm mutters, drawing a hand down his face.

“ _And_ sleeping with Angela Heaney,” she adds grumpily, and he freezes.

“I’m sorry, _what,_? Ohhh…” He pauses, looking thoughtful. “Was I--he--working with Ollie Reeder?”

“Yeah,” she says, rolling her eyes. “God, you know, I used to think you were exaggerating when you told me how awful they all were.”

“Mm, yeah, but that does explain it,” he says. “Angela’s Ollie’s ex. Ollie probably annoyed your boss at some point, and that was his revenge. But I’ll tell you what...this gig does have some pretty great fucking perks,” he adds, reaching down to grab her knee and pull it over his hip before sliding his hand up her thigh under her skirt. “This outfit...this should come back with us.”

“You’re not going to tell me what you’ve been doing the last three months?” she asks, putting her hand on his chest again as he leans in.

“Not even remotely fucking interesting,” he says, ignoring her hand and leaning in to kiss her. She surrenders almost immediately--he’ll tell her when he’s ready, he always does, and they have plenty of time.

It’s not until he’s got her shirt half unbuttoned and is trailing kisses down her neck that he pauses, lifting the chain holding her rings with a questioning look.

“I didn’t think the great Malcolm Tucker would appreciate his PA inexplicably wearing his mother’s engagement ring,” she says with a shrug. Malcolm nods, then reaches around her to unclasp it. He pulls it away from her neck and lets the rings drop into his palm before lifting her hand.

“Think it’s time we get them home,” he murmurs, voice thick as he slips them back onto her finger. He brings her hand up to kiss her ring finger softly, and she’s shocked to find his eyes suspiciously bright as he looks back up at her. “Happy anniversary, sweetheart. Sorry it’s not the Carribean.”

“Nowhere I’d rather be,” she whispers, sliding her arms around him and pulling him into another kiss.

The heat between them ratchets up at light speed after that, months of separation adding a desperate need to the flame that never really dies between them. They shove at each other’s clothes, tossing them away haphazardly, kissing every bit of newly exposed flesh on the other. Every touch and sigh and muttered curse soothes the burning loneliness, reassuring Rose that yes, her life does still exist, that she’s in love and loved, and was missed just as much as she missed everyone.

When Malcolm leaves a trail of kisses down her abdomen, detouring for a moment to nip at the ridge of her hip bone, she reaches for him. As much as she’d love to feel that quick tongue of his on her, she needs him as close as possible. He seems to understand, raising himself up to cover her body with his as he kisses her again. At the slightest pressure, he lets her push him over onto his back, hands grasping her thighs and thumbs caressing her skin lightly as she looks down at him. She hesitates, her hands on his chest as she gazes into his clear blue eyes, completely open and warm, trusting and loving and everything that separated this man from the one she’d faced every day for months.

“I love you, Malcolm,” she murmurs, and he shoves himself into a sitting position, chest to chest with her. He lifts her hips, pulling her down on him, as he kisses the point where her neck meets her shoulder. She wraps her arms around his neck with a gasp--she’d forgotten just _how good_ he felt inside her, stretching and filling her just right.

“I love you, darling,” he whispers, lips against her ear as she starts to move her hips slowly.

One of his arms wraps around her waist, and they cling to each other as they move against each other, hips meeting thrust for thrust as heat coils in her abdomen. She’s panting and moaning his name when the hand on her hip moves inward, his thumb brushing over clit as he nips at her pulse point, and she shatters around him with a cry. He flips them effortlessly, quickening the pace as he chases his own relief, bringing her over the edge again when he finally shudders with a shout of her name.

Her fingers run through his hair when he collapses on top of her; it’ll probably be uncomfortable eventually, but for the moment, it’s just another reassurance that he’s here and he loves her. After a moment, he does shift off her, groaning a little when he slips out of her. He rolls over, pulling her with him to hold him against her chest as he settles himself on his back.

“God, I missed you,” he murmurs, kissing her hair.

“You too,” she says softly, running her hands lightly over his ribs. “You’ve lost weight.”

“So did you,” he observes, tickling her side. She squirms, wrinkling her nose at him, and he grins. She’s stunned for a moment--just like the look in his eyes, his smile is completely different from the sly, manipulative one the Dark Lord of Downing Street always wears. He arches an eyebrow after a moment, but she just shakes her head.

“Well, if we’re stuck here for another...ten hours? We’ll probably need sustenance.” She levers herself up on her elbow to look down at him. “And there’s one thing that hasn’t changed in this universe.”

He looks confused for an instant, then his face clears. “Not--”

“Yup,” she says with a grin, getting up to search for her phone. “Everyone’s favorite Thai place is apparently the only redeeming quality of this backwards universe.”

She finds her phone and stands up only to find his arms wrapping around her waist again and pulling her back down on the bed.

“Make the order quick,” he mutters against her skin as he kisses her shoulder. “Cause I’m not even close to done with you.”

“Greedy,” she accuses with a giggle as she dials.

“It’s my fucking anniversary,” he retorts. “And I’ve got ten hours to kill before your family rightfully steals you away--”

“So you plan to fill it with as much ‘fucking’ as possible?” she asks, glancing back at him and bringing the phone to her ear.

“Filthy language, Mrs Tucker,” he murmurs, tugging the phone away from her and hitting the end button before tossing it on the bedside table. “You know what that does to me.”

It’s another half hour before she can even place the order, but neither of them care.


	29. All That Remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm makes one last stop before facing the music.

Rose is gone when Malcolm leaves the office to meet his lawyer, and he has a pang of regret, knowing that he probably won’t see her again. He doesn’t want to go, this job is his life, it’s _consumed_ his life, but his chances of staying are nil. Still...there has to be a way to do this with some fucking dignity. Ollie’s got Dan heading for Lewisham with all the press twats following after them like the greedy fucking leeches they are, leaving him free to go to Brentford unmolested...hopefully.

Clearly, however, he neglected to take into account one fact that has become abundantly fucking clear, and it’s that the whole fucking universe is currently stacked against him. The vultures are already circling by the time he realizes that Brentford is so fucking backed up they haven’t even got time to arrest him--leave it to fucking DoSAC.

The irony that he’s still being fucked over by that office even while still serving the fuckwits that had actually been there when he had an iota of fucking power does not escape him as he and his lawyer search desperately for an unguarded exit, only to still be chased into a cab by the gluttonous fucking journalists scavenging for scraps of his livelihood.  
He fumbles for his phone while spitting threats at the driver for trying to strand them, dialing Ollie quickly.

“Oliver Reeder.”

“Ollie, some press turned up at Brentford,” he says tersely. “I've just been chased into a cab. It's like Hard Day's fucking Night. Where can I go?” 

“Er…I'm hearing Hackney's good,” Ollie tells him after a pause. “Eighty-two percent operational.”

Hackney. Jesus fucking christ, that alone is fucking embarrassing. “Ollie, will you please keep the rest of the press there, with Dan in Lewisham? Please. I need my dignity. Come on, give me my fucking dignity--” 

“Er, thanks for calling,” Ollie cuts in, just before the unmistakable click of the call disconnecting.

“You fucking spineless little-- _fuck_!”

“Malcolm?” Greg asks.

“Hackney,” he mutters as his phone goes off again. He glances at it to see Angela on the caller ID. “Oh, fuck me--what, what can I fucking do for you? Figured since I had my cock in you, you should have first fucking whack at my bollocks?”

“Are you really being arrested?” she asks, and he rolls his eyes.

“No, Miss Heaney, my lawyer and I simply came to terms with our undying love for each other, and now we’re taking a mini break to fuck each other’s brains out in Blackpool.”  


“Already over the PA, then?” she asks sarcastically, and he stiffens.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You and the little blonde who’s been following you around like a yorkie the past few months,” she says. “You seemed pretty enamored with her an hour ago, what with the way your tongue was half way down her throat.”

“You’ve fucking cracked,” he tells her. “I dunno what kind of uppers or downers or whatever the fuck you’re taking--or _not_ fucking taking--but there’s nothing between me and my PA. And you know, Angela, even if there was, it’s not your fucking business. Why the fuck are you calling me?”

“You’re such a shit, Malcolm,” she snaps. “You’re a miserable fucking person who makes everyone else fucking miserable--the only thing you’re good at is your job, and you managed to fuck yourself there too.”

“Can’t say I don’t do a thorough job,” he replies, ending the call. He stares at his phone for a moment, trying to figure out what the fuck she was talking about. Regardless of what he’d wanted, he only kissed Rose once, and that was when they were alone in his office. And it was weeks ago, before the whole inquiry happened. So apart from Rose telling the press, which he highly doubts, and still doesn’t explain the whole “hour ago” bit, there’s no fucking sense to what Angela had said.

He scrolls through his contacts until he reaches Rose, hitting the cab door when she doesn’t answer. On impulse, he pulls up the browser on her phone, searching for the trashy bedsit he’d found her listed at before and giving the driver the address.

“Tucker, I don’t think this is the best time to--”

“Fuck you,” he snaps, leaning back and looking out the window. “I’m about to lose everything. Grant a fucking dying man a last fucking request.”

He glances around when he reaches the building out of habit, but the press rarely venture to desolate corners like this unless some idiot MP let it leak that he’s been visiting a whore there on Tuesdays at 2pm. He catches the door as someone else is leaving, then moves past the stairs, glancing at the doors until he finds her number. He hesitates a second before knocking, wondering what the fuck he’s even doing there. What the fuck does it matter what fucking delusions Angela fucking Heaney has?

But then he remembers her tongue in teeth smile, and he’s knocking before he’s even aware of the decision.

He hears muffled voices inside, and a crash, and laughter. He frowns a little as one voice draws closer; it’s not Rose, but it’s weirdly familiar. Wrong, though...like what you hear when you record your own voice and play it back--

He freezes when the door opens and he comes face to face with...himself.

“What the _fuck_?”

His...other self is wearing the same stunned expression he is, before Rose hurries over, tying the belt of a robe around her waist.

“Tucker!” she gasps. “What...what’re you doing here?”

“Having a fucking psychotic break, apparently,” he replies, still staring.

The other him is shirtless, wearing only a pair of jeans--jeans--and looks...not quite identical. A little younger, maybe, and in far better shape. And has a hand on the back of Rose’s neck, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Um,” Rose says, pushing her hair back and glancing at the man next to her. A glint on her hand catches his eye, and he grabs at her wrist to look at it.

“That’s my mum’s engagement ring,” he says, his voice hollow.

“Not...quite,” the other him says, then shakes his head with a frustrated noise. “This is too fucking weird. Fucking Torchwood.”

“It’s not Torchwood’s fault!” Rose argues. “It’s that stupid Nyladi.”

“Which you wouldn’t have encountered if you weren’t fucking working for Torchwood,” the shirtless man counters.

“Will someone please explain what the fuck is going on?” Malcolm demands, and they both turn back to him.

“Why don’t you come inside?” Rose asks, reaching and taking his arm to tug him through the door as the other him steps further into the room and reaches for a shirt. She pulls Malcolm down to the sofa as the other him drops onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. “So...it’s like this. I’m...not from here. Um.”

She seems unsure how to go on, and he frowns. “Are you an alien?”

“What? No. Why would you...oh, Torchwood,” she realizes, and he nods. “No, not an alien. Totally human.” The other him snorts, and she cuts him a look before turning back to Malcolm. “I’m from another universe, where...things went a little differently.”

“Differently how?” he asks.

“She’s twice removed,” the other him says, and Malcolm turns to him. “She was from another universe first, and then got stuck in mine with her mum and dad...you’d know them as Pete and Jackie Tyler.”

“Rose Tyler,” he says slowly, his mind racing. There was the daughter they never had, the whole reason they split, and everything fell apart. “You said you weren’t related to Pete.”

“Well...technically I’m not,” she says. “Long story. But I’m _definitely_ not related to your Pete.”

“You said you were on the run from an abusive boyfriend,” he says, struggling to find some sort of reason in the chaos.

“Actually, Annie said that,” she reminds him. “But only because the truth is...a lot weirder.”

“Oh, do you fucking _think_?” he snaps, getting to his feet and pacing in the small space. “Why’ve you got my mum’s engagement ring?”

“Why do you _think_?” the other him snorts, and Malcolm stops, staring at him. “We’ve been married for three years. And I’m not in politics, thank fucking christ.”

“He never sold Vitex,” Malcolm says.

“Had no reason to,” the other him says with a shrug.

“So why aren’t you here?” Malcolm asks, turning back to Rose. “What changed?”

“Apparently, I’m still in my original universe,” she says with a shrug. “With...uh...a friend of mine,” she adds, glancing at her...husband, who gets up and walks over to her, putting an arm around her as he sinks down next to her and presses a kiss to her temple. The sight of it makes Malcolm inexplicably furious.

“This is all your fucking fault then,” he says in a low voice, and they both look up at him, startled. “My life, your parents lives, completely ruined so that you could be happy go lucky in some other fucking dimension.”

“No, that’s not--”

“Don’t fucking tell me what it’s not,” he snaps, cutting her off neatly. “It’s because of _you_ that ol’ Jackie II just couldn’t fucking hack it with your dad, and he went all Spooky Mulder and left me to fucking rot!”

“Well, good to know you’re not the only fucking difference between this geriatric twat and myself,” the other him snorts. “Seems he’s a bit lacking in fucking brains as well.”

Malcolm stares at him. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, fucking listen to yourself!” The other him stands and glares at him. “She _saved_ my life. Because without her, _you’re_ who I’d be, all fucking miserable and self-destructive and fucking _boring_. I mean, leaving the job for fucking _perjury_? To take down fucking Nikola ‘glummy mummy’ Murray? You’ve lost your touch, gone fucking senile, so fucking pay attention: this universe wasn’t meant to exist _at all_...it’s only here because some fucking alien attacked her and shoved her off into it.”

“So that makes it alright?” Malcolm asks. “I’m supposed to just...carry on while _my_ life falls apart, and you two get to head back off to your happy little utopia together?”

“Probably not, actually,” the other him says slowly, backing down.

“What?” Rose asks, frowning as she stands as well. “We _are_ going home, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” he replies. “It’s just...thing is, this universe really is only here because of you. Taylor says it’s unstable, and once you’re not here to power it, it’ll collapse.”

“Everyone’s gonna _die_?” she asks, looking horrified.

“No...it’s...I dunno, I’m no fucking good at this weird shit,” he complains. “It’s not that they... _die_. It’s that they just...never existed? Or some shit like that.”

“Yeah, that’s much fucking better,” Malcolm snaps sarcastically. “That’ll make the next--what, hours? Days? They’ll be a real treat, given that they’re counting down my doom.”

“Hours,” the other him explains with a shrug.

“So this was all for nothing,” Malcolm realizes. “All of it. Everything I’ve done since the day I met you, it’s been completely fucking useless.”

“I’m so sorry,” Rose says, looking near tears.

Malcolm’s phone chimes, and he pulls it out of his jacket to stare at the text from his lawyer, asking if he’s ever coming back outside.

“How sure are you that we won’t exist?” he asks, not looking up from his phone.

“ _I’m_ not,” the other him says. “As for Taylor...it’s a theory, and I’d believe him...but I don’t know that he’s totally certain either. He likes to live on the edge like that,” he adds, and Malcolm looks up to see him roll his eyes at Rose.

Malcolm looks at Rose as she gives her husband a shaky smile, and it hits him suddenly that she looks even more gorgeous than she has before, despite still looking a little unhappy about the situation. And somewhere, somehow, he’d been able to have something with her, despite...everything he is.

But not here. Here...it’s always going to be just him.

“Take care of her,” he mutters to his other self, turning for the door. He stops when he feels her tug on his arm, and turns back to her an instant before he feels her lips on his. It’s quick and it’s chaste, over long before he’s ready or can even properly respond, and then she’s stepping away from him, back toward her husband. The other man snakes an arm around her waist and pulls her back against his chest, kissing her hair as his other hand moves over her arm; it’s a comforting gesture, rather than a possessive one, and it strikes Malcolm that it’s a key difference between them. While Malcolm hates everyone and has made his peace with everyone hating him, this other man is loved, and clearly knows it, and just as clearly reciprocates it.

“Good luck,” Rose says, cutting his musings short.

Malcolm swallows hard and nods, looking at his other self as he says, “Yeah, you too.”

He turns away from the couple, hurrying out of the building and back into the cab, staring out the window silently as it speeds for Hackney. He sits numbly through the arrest proceedings and bail agreement, which goes unnoticed, as his lawyer advised him not to say anything anyway. He stands with a stony face as the press surround them outside the precinct to hear the prepared statement delivered by the solicitor:

"I am innocent of all charges and vow to do everything in my power to clear my name. I will fight this all the way, and I am confident no jury will be able to look me in the eye and say anything other than I am an innocent man. But to avoid any distraction to my official duties, and to begin preparations for my acquittal, I am standing down as senior communications officer to my party, and, with a heavy heart, I am leaving top-tier politics for good.”

A chorus of questions and comments stream from the journalists as Greg tries to steer him through the press of bodies, asking if he has anything further he’d wish to add, whether he’d been sacked, whether he felt any guilt for letting his party down--

“No, I want to say something,” he declares suddenly, shaking off Greg’s hand. “I want to say something.” The group quiets, waiting with baited breath--but all he can see is the couple he’d left behind, a haunting reminder of what could have been. He focuses back on the vultures circling the corpse of everything he’d worked for, recalling all the sacrifices he’d made...for nothing. He realizes that he doesn’t much care if this whole universe collapses after all.

“Doesn't matter,” he says finally, striding through the crowd, leaving the decayed and rotting remnants of everything he’d been behind for them to feed on.


	30. For Want of a Nail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose finally gets back to her correct universe, with a new appreciation for her life and place in it.

It doesn’t take long for Rose to get her affairs in order, such as they are.  It’s not like she really has a lot to take back with her, or that anything here will last after she’s gone anyway.

She had some trouble with that, even after Tucker left.  Malcolm tried to reassure her, to blame the Nyladi, but even if the alien creature had created this universe, it’s because it had latched onto _her_ history.  It still baffles her that the universe could change _this much_ just because she wasn’t there, but Malcolm had been cagey when she commented on it, saying something about wanting a nail.

He continues to hedge when she asks about what he’d been doing, telling her it doesn’t matter, but the circles under his eyes and his gaunt face tell a different tale.  He finally admits that he might need her to be more visible than usual within a couple days of their return--a complete turnabout from his usual obsessive privacy and protection of her.  When she worms the reasons out of him--the scandal and the accusations and bloody _Rebecca_ \--she loses it, cursing every journalist and hack she can ever remember him mentioning.

She only stops when she sees him watching her with a crooked smile.  He pulls her down for a kiss, telling her once again that he’s a horrible influence on her.

She considers calling her mum and Annie, but doesn’t even know what she’d say.  It’s not as if they’ll ever really know she’s gone, and she can’t even begin to find a way to explain what’s going to happen to them.  When she mentions it to Malcolm, he shrugs in regards to the idea of calling Jackie, completely indifferent as he switches the channel on the telly and tells her it’s up to her.  It’s only when she asks if he wants to talk to Annie that she sees the flash in his eyes, just before he outright refuses.  She looks at him in surprise, and he sighs, running a hand down his face.

“She’s still my sister, Rose,” he explains.  “If I talk to her...I don’t know if I could leave her here to disappear.  I don’t know a lot about science and paradoxes and what the fuck ever, but something tells me that would be a really bad fucking idea.”

She admits defeat, dropping down onto the sofa with him and snuggling into his side when he puts an arm around her.  “How much longer have we got?”

“A few hours,” he replies. “The relay should alert us when the cannon is ready, and then we have five minutes after that to hold onto it before it goes back.”

She sighs and rests her head on his shoulder. “Okay. I just… I miss home.”

“I know,” he says softly, dropping a kiss on her hair.  “We’ll be back soon.”

She raises her face to kiss him, and it’s not long before he’s picking her up and carrying her back to bed to push her robe open again.  They spend the last hours in the universe like that, reassuring each other with soft words and touches that the nightmare is over.

They pull themselves away from each other half an hour before they're due to leave.  Rose debates for a moment, then decides on her last clean sundress over her Torchwood fatigues, packing those up in a small bag with her wallet, phone, ID, and boots.  Malcolm stuffs the skirt in her bag as well, winking at her.

"You know they have those in our universe as well," she comments dryly as she zips the bag.

"That one's special," he says with a shrug.  "Sentimental value."

"You just like it 'cause it's easier to picture getting me out of it."

"Abso-fucking-lutely."

Malcolm pulls out the relay device when it beeps its five minute warning.  She takes a deep breath, suddenly anxious as she tightens her ponytail nervously.  He wraps her hand around the device and gives her a quick kiss before warning her to hold on and watch the first step.  She looks up at him in confusion just before a force like a twelve ton lorry slams into her, taking her breath away.

She stumbles when the pressure disappears as suddenly as it came, letting go of Malcolm, and strong arms move to catch her.  When she looks up to see Pete's worried face--without any visible scars--a sob breaks loose from her throat and she throws her arms around his neck.

“Nice to see you, sweetheart,” he says, hugging her back tightly.  “Things were a lot darker without you around.”

“You’ve no idea,” she murmurs, burying her face in his shoulder.  “Love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, Rose,” he says.

She pulls away a little to look at him, and catches sight of Mickey and Malcolm shaking hands behind him.  She pushes past her father to launch herself at Mickey; she’s probably nearly strangling him, but she doesn’t care.

“Nice to see you too, babe,” he manages, struggling to stay upright.  “Missed me, then?”

“Listen to me,” she says fiercely, pulling back to glare at him.  “No more daredevil moves, yeah?  You’ve got a fiance and people who love you and depend on you, and I can’t always be there to save your arse, so you’ve got to be careful, alright?”

“Sure thing,” he says with a confused look.  “But Rose, I don’t--”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” she snaps, then hugs him tight again.  “I don’t wanna lose you, Micks.”

His arms tighten at her whispered words.  “What happened over there, Rose?”

“Nothing good,” she replies shortly, stepping back.

“Ah, well, safe and sound now, Mrs. Tucker,” Taylor says as he finally leaves the shield room.  "And, as predicted, the universe that you were in is no longer detectable.  Now," he goes on, ignoring her ashen face and the way Malcolm's arm slides around her shoulders, "if we could discuss what you experienced in the other dimension--it would be invaluable for the report on the Nyladi--as well as your trip with the cannon--"

"Later," Pete cuts in firmly.

Taylor looks crestfallen.  "But sir--"

"She'll talk to you about it later," the Director repeats, his authoritative tone brooking no argument from the scientist.  "It's late, and there are still people who want to see her.  We'll schedule a full debriefing next week."

"Yes sir," Taylor says, disappointment still obvious in his tone. 

Rose considers him a moment, then says, "I wasn't there."

"Pardon?" he asks, perplexed.

"That universe, it shared a timeline with this one, up ‘til the point I got stuck,” she explains.  He had managed to get the cannon working and get her home, after all.  No harm in giving him something to theorize about until they had a full debriefing.  “It split off there; I never got stuck in that universe.”

“Fascinating,” the little scientist breathes.  “It’s possible that this creature works on a sort of ‘bad genie’ principle; that psychic thrumming you all felt, it was finding your dreams, your wishes, your what ifs, then providing them with its own twist.  Somehow it must have been feeding off the energy of the universe…”

His voice trails off into a mumble as he hurries away, and Malcolm arches a brow.  “Nice deflection...that little nugget should keep him occupied for days.  I wonder where you could’ve learned something like that…”

They share a grin that has Mickey rolling his eyes.  “Well, glad to see that’s back to normal.  Go on, get her home.  Jackie’s waiting at your place, I’ll bring Rose’s car round, since I’m assuming you’re going to want to canoodle or whatever.”

“I don’t fucking canoodle,” Malcolm mutters, and Rose laughs as she tugs him out of the room, eager to get home.

Malcolm doesn’t let go of her hand the whole way home--not that she’d try to pull away anyhow.  When they do get to the house, she almost starts crying again, and his hand tightens around hers as he pulls into the drive.  Her car is already there, and presumably it’s Mickey who went inside and turned on the lights.  The sight of her home--the blocky building that Malcolm had found for her even before having a life together had been a thought in her mind, with the ivy Julie and Annie had planted a couple years back starting to climb the sides--after nearly giving up hope of ever seeing it again is nearly her undoing.  When the car stops and they get out, Malcolm surprises Rose by picking her up and carrying her up to the door bridal style.

“Happy anniversary, darling,” he murmurs, dipping his head to kiss her before adjusting his grip to unlock the door.

A dog starts barking somewhere as he sets her on her feet inside the door, and she looks around in confusion before catching sight of the dog she’d been feeding racing toward them, tail wagging furiously.  He whines a little when she simply stares at him, dancing anxiously in front of her, and she laughs before dropping down to her knees to hug him.

“I missed you too,” she says, pulling back to rub his ears.  Her eyes narrow when she sees the collar around his neck, and she puts a hand under the tag to peer at it.  “Shadow?”

The dog barks happily, and she grins up at Malcolm.  He looks shifty for a second, then sighs and shrugs.

“Julie named him.  I was going with ‘little fucker’, but apparently they didn’t approve.”

She laughs again as she stands, hugging him around the middle as his arm slides around her shoulders.  “I knew you’d give in eventually.”

“Oi, you two,” Mickey calls, popping his head out from the living room.  “You gonna stand there all night?”

Rose looks up at Malcolm in confusion as Mickey disappears again, but he only shrugs and shakes his head.  Shadow trots off ahead of them, and they follow the dog into the living room

As soon as Rose and Malcolm enter the room, there’s an enormous shout of “Surprise!” and their family leap out behind the furniture. Annie is in the center, beaming, holding out a bottle of Rose’s favorite wine as Julie and Nate race forward and crash into her legs. Tony is on Mickey’s shoulders, and Nadia and Jackie are flanking Annie. Martha is laughing near the table set up with all sorts of food, and Jake and Sarah are leaning over the back of the couch, blowing noise makers and throwing confetti.

Rose feels tears pooling in her eyes again, but she’s smiling, and immediately runs to her mother and Annie. Everyone clumps around her, talking about how happy they are that she’s back, that she’s okay, and everyone laughs when Martha demands that Rose go see her tomorrow morning for a physical. “After all,” Martha adds, “I need my bridesmaid for the wedding.”

She’s dragged into excited conversation from Tony, Nate, and Julie, all three talking over each other, determined to fill her in on their lives since she was gone. Tony apparently got a fire truck that he refuses to part with since Malcolm gave it to him, a hand-me-down from Nate that Tony had dug out one day when Jackie was dropping by to check on the house. Eventually Annie rescues her, bringing her to the sofa, where Jackie pulls her into her arms and Annie squeezes in between them and Jake.

She catches sight of Malcolm leaning against a wall, his arms crossed as he watches the chaos.  She mouths an apology at him, but he just shakes his head with a small smile.

“Love you,” she mouths at him, and he returns the gesture before Sarah distracts her by pushing a glass of wine in her hand and starts catching her up on the gossip she’d missed the past few months at Torchwood.

She’s thrilled to see everyone, but after a couple of hours of dodging questions that she doesn’t want to answer yet and being caught up on everyone’s lives over the past few months, Rose feels overwhelmed and escapes to the kitchen.  She grabs a fleece jumper Malcolm had left draped over a chair, pulling it over her head before opening the door and looking up at the stars over the garden.  She knows it’s probably her imagination, but the stars never looked right in that universe either.

“Escaping already?” Annie jokes when she finds her leaning against the jam of the open door, and Rose looks back at her with a soft smile as she approaches.  “It’s good to see you, Rose.”

“Yeah, you too,” Rose says.  The alternate version of Annie had been wonderful...but nothing could replace the years of late nights and long lunches and shared giggles and bonding that she’s had with her sister-in-law.

“Was it that bad?” Annie asks, and Rose takes a deep breath, looking back at the garden and nodding.

“It was bad, yeah,” she murmurs.  “But I’ll tell you what...you were great.”

“Naturally,” Annie replies, and Rose laughs when she tosses her hair over her shoulder with a sniff.  “Anyway, you’re back now.  And good thing, too...my brother’s hopeless without you.  I think...I think everyone’s a little hopeless without you.”

Rose frowns as her statement hits home, being so in line with the other universe.  “That’s not right.  I’m not even important.”

“Maybe not in the grand scheme of the _universe_ ,” Annie teases.  “Wouldn’t want you getting a big head.  But...you’re important to us.  Look at all those people in there...you think we’d all be a family if it weren’t for you?”  Rose shrugs, and Annie shakes her head with an impatient huff.  “Nah, it all falls apart without you.  But since I’m the one who got you and my brother together, I’m nearly as important as you,” she adds, kissing Rose’s cheek as she laughs.  “Don’t be too long, my brother might send out search parties if he loses sight of you again.”

Annie disappears into the hall again, and Rose looks back out at the garden, remembering what it was Malcolm had said earlier:

“ _For want of a nail the shoe was lost._

_For want of a shoe the horse was lost._

_For want of a horse the rider was lost._

_For want of a rider the message was lost._

_For want of a message the battle was lost._

_For want of a battle the kingdom was lost._

_And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.”_

_“You made us all better.  You’re our nail, darling.  You think it’s nothing, it’s not important, but without you...we’re all lost.”_


	31. Oxygen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm comes to grips with Rose finally being home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And alas, we have reached the end. Thank you SO MUCH for everyone who has read this story, whether you were here since the beginning or waited until we were through ;)  
> There will be a sequel, as well as a one shot, which will be posted soon. See you then!

Malcolm gasps awake from another dark nightmare, heart racing and the sound of Rose crying in his mind. Then there’s a sleepy sound beside him, and he lets out a long breath as Rose cuddles into his side, one hand coming up to rest on his chest and doing wonders to wash the dream away. He snakes an arm around her and presses a kiss to her head, thrilled for the moment to simply hold her, his thumb moving softly over her bare hip.

After a moment, however, Shadow is at the side of the bed, whining a little as he shifts his weight around with a desperate expression. Malcolm narrows his eyes at the dog, then sighs and gently disentangles himself from Rose, who makes another muffled sound before burrowing down again in the blankets and pillows. Malcolm gets to his feet, pulling on a pair of pajama pants and a pullover, bending to press another kiss to his wife’s head before exiting the room, Shadow close behind. He rubs an eye tiredly as he pulls the back door open for Shadow, too exhausted still to even contemplate taking the dog for an actual walk; between the emotional day and the _incredibly_ late night, he’s beat--even when him and Rose weren’t engaging in...athletics, they were talking about everything and nothing. Shadow doesn’t seem to mind, however, racing outside and running a lap around the garden before Malcolm has even closed the door.

Malcolm stretches, then scratches at his head as he glances around the kitchen. He starts a pot of coffee brewing, then opens the fridge, pulling out eggs and bacon, as well as a bag of hash browns from the freezer. If he’s going to be up, he might as well do something constructive.

As he works, his mind drifts back to the parallel world Rose had been inhabiting for the last three months. As jarring as it had been, the circumstances weren’t...actually all that surprising. While no one’s life really revolves around Rose, apart from maybe his, she’s the glue that holds everyone together. Her being here gave Jackie the freedom and peace of mind to make a go of it with Pete without a lot of pain and blame between them, which gave Pete the support he needed to continue to run both Vitex and Torchwood successfully and simultaneously. Apart from keeping him employed, Rose gave Malcolm the push he needed to bridge the gap that still remained with his sister, as well as giving him a reason to get out of bed in the morning that didn’t involve plans on destroying someone else. It’s not hard to see how, without her, everything would fall apart. It just serves to make him more thankful than ever that he’s got her by his side again, and everything that she brings with her.

He’s nearly done with breakfast when Rose’s arms slide around his waist, and his eyes slide closed as she kisses his shoulder blade lightly.

“This was supposed to be breakfast in bed,” he tells her.

“Don’t care,” she says, and he smiles as her grip tightens and he feels her cheek against his back. “I got lonely. ‘Sides, I missed your breakfasts too much to wait for you to bring it upstairs.”

“Of course you did,” he says as she moves away to pour them both coffee, adding enough milk and sugar to hers to make his lip curl in distaste; the fact that she’s only wearing one of his Oxfords, though, is a pleasant distraction. She leaves his coffee blessedly black, however, and hands it to him as she looks up at him over the rim of her own mug. “I honestly don’t know what you even fucking ate over there, cause god knows you weren’t cooking for yourself.”

“Shut up,” she says with a laugh.

“I can see it now,” he goes on mercilessly, “‘Countless dead as fire spreads through Westminster, source traced to hapless woman attempting to make toast.’”

“I’m not _that bad_ ,” she protests as he turns the fire off under the various pans.

“Are you sure?” he asks, putting his cup down and placing his hands on her hips. “Because I seem to recall a time that had the smoke alarms blaring--”

“That wasn’t my fault,” she says, putting her own mug down next to his and sliding her arms around his neck. “ _Someone_ distracted me--pretty thoroughly, I might add.”

“Likely story,” he says, one side of his mouth turning up in a crooked grin. “And how, _allegedly_ , were you distracted?”

“Something like this,” she says, stepping closer and pulling his head down for a kiss.

He slides his arms around her waist to draw her closer to him as he parts her lips effortlessly. She lets out a little sigh when his tongue strokes slowly against hers, and there’s a part of him that feels like it’s still waiting to wake up when her nails scratch against his scalp. Maybe it’s him that finally just cracked, the months of loneliness creating an elaborate delusion, but as she presses against him, he can’t really bring himself to care much.

A bark outside shatters the moment, and he breaks the kiss gently as he glances at the door.

“Little fucker,” he growls. “Maybe he should go back to being an outdoor sort of dog.”

“You’d miss him,” Rose says with a smile as she dances out of his arms. “Don’t even try to deny it--when you weren’t pawing at me last night, you were petting him. You’re such a softie.”

“I’m not a fucking softie,” he mutters, getting out plates and piling food on them as she lets the dog in. “I’m Malcolm fucking Tucker, and I strike terror into the heart of the hardest journalist.”

“That’s right,” she says, leaning up to kiss his cheek as she takes a plate from him. He narrows his eyes at her suspiciously as she picks up her coffee, her eyes dancing as she turns for the table, but refrains from comment, lest he dig himself a greater hole.

Rose swings one leg over his when he sits down next to her, and he rests his hand on her thigh, thumb occasionally moving in small circles as they eat and chat. She teases him again when he absently lowers a piece of bacon for Shadow, and it’s all so normal that he finally starts to relax and let himself believe that she really is home.

Her phone beeps at her where she left it to charge on the counter as they’re cleaning up. She’d let it go completely dead in the other universe, since it couldn’t connect with anything anyway. He finishes wiping the counters down as she goes to check what is undoubtedly an absurd amount of messages, thinking nothing of it until he glances up to see her watching him with wide eyes as she holds the phone to her ear.

“Malcolm,” she says softly, and he swallows hard as he recalls the message he left when he was first drowning, the day she disappeared. She’s in his arms before the remembered pain can overwhelm him, tossing her phone on the counter as he kisses her hard and with a hint of desperation. 

She breaks the kiss after a heated moment, and he can feel her lips against his ear as she leans up to whisper, “I love you so much, Malcolm. Thank you for finding me.”

He hadn’t told her about the dream, she couldn’t know, but the words shoot straight to his core, and he’s pulling back to kiss her again, not even bothering to hold back any of his need for her. She kisses him back with equal fervor, and he leans down to hook his arm around her knees, hoisting her up into his arms without breaking the kiss. He makes a snap decision in the hall, turning away from the stairs and into the living room--there’s no way he’s going to make it to their bedroom. He sets her down on the sofa, then pulls away long enough to tug his shirt over his head before joining her, settling between her thighs as his lips capture hers once more. His hips grind into hers when he feels her hands on his back, short nails raking over his skin lightly, and he breaks the kiss to move his lips on a trail over her chin and down to her neck. He coaxes a low moan from her as he sucks at her pulse point, and he brings one hand up to her breast, his thumb moving over the pebbled peak through the thin material of his shirt.

“Malcolm,” she gasps, and he switches to the other side of her neck as he brings his other hand up, unbuttoning the shirt with shaky hands as he moves down her body, leaving open-mouthed kisses on every inch of newly exposed flesh.

He nips at her hip bone as he opens the shirt, and one hand strokes lightly up her thigh before moving through her slit. He lets out a groan when he feels how wet she is, immediately moving his head to run his tongue through her folds. Her pelvis jumps when he finds her clit and sucks it gently as he pushes two fingers inside of her, and he raises his free hand to her hip, holding her in place. She lets out a keening sound as her fingers slide through his hair, and he curls his fingers a little as they thrust into her, coupling the movement with hard strokes of his tongue against her clit.

" _Fuck_ , Malcolm," she moans, arching against his hand and gripping the sofa back with her free hand. He lets out a growl against her, and the vibration of it sends her over the edge with a shout, hips straining against him as he continues his ministrations more gently, drawing out her orgasm.

He finally lets up when she whimpers a little, drawing away from his touch. He slips his fingers out of her and draws them into his mouth, licking them clean before climbing back up her body, leaving a trail of kisses behind. When he reaches her mouth, he kisses her deeply, and she groans against his lips as he brings a hand up to her breast.

“Rose,” he murmurs as he breaks the kiss, brushing her hair out of her face with his free hand. “Darling, do you have any idea how much I love you?”

“Three years of marriage,” she says, her gaze drifting away thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’m starting to get the picture.”

“Good,” he replies with a smirk. “And I’ve got a whole lot more time to prove it to you.”

He kisses her again, hands drifting over her body until she’s moaning against his lips once more. He sucks in a breath when she reaches into his pajama bottoms, his head lowering to her shoulder and his hips bucking as she strokes him slowly. He murmurs her name before turning his head to kiss her neck, and she lets go of him in favor of pushing the bottoms down past his hips. He rises a little to kick them off a little awkwardly, then hooks an arm behind one of her knees, lifting her hips to meet his as he presses into her. He pauses then, still overcome that he gets this feeling of coming home again after nearly losing hope he’d ever get her back. His free hand twines with one of hers and presses it back into the arm of the sofa as he starts to move, thrusting into her slowly and with purpose until she starts whimpering and cursing.

He hikes her leg up around his waist and moves his hand to her hip for leverage as her nails scrape over his back again, her hips rising to meet his and his pelvis grinding against her clit with every thrust. He feels her muscles start to flutter around him just as his control begins to dissolve, and he leans down to kiss her as his movements become erratic as he slams into her. He swallows her shout as she comes again, pulling him over with her with a groan. He breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against hers as he rocks against her, prolonging their mutual pleasure.

He opens his eyes after a moment, looking down at her flushed and sated expression with a smug smile. He kisses her softly before twisting them around, slipping out of her as he positions her between him and the sofa back, but mostly still on top of him. Rose reaches up for the blanket lying on the sofa back at the same time he drops an arm searching for the throw pillow that got...mislaid in their adventures, and they settle back again, entirely too happy and satisfied to even consider moving for a long time.

“You know,” she says after a moment, drawing patterns on his chest. “With how...attentive you’ve been the last couple days, maybe I should go away more often.”

“Not even close to fucking funny,” he growls, his hand pausing as it moves through her hair.

“I wouldn’t do that anyway,” she says, levering herself up a little to look at him. “After all, who’d feed me?”

She gives him a teasing smile, and he can finally breathe again.


End file.
